


From Zürich to Verona

by elsalovesjack



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Americanisms, Accidentally Out of Character, Age Difference, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Bisexuality, Dimmock’s mother is Russian, Drug Addiction, Drugs, Explicit Language, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Forced Marriage, Homophobia, Homosexuality, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, John is technically old enough to be Sherlock’s dad, John’s adult daughter wants to shag Sherlock, Kid Fic, Multi, Mycroft is a delusional yet effective matchmaker, No Smut, Older John, Paparazzi, Past Relationship(s), Rehab, Violence, Why is John going along with this?, drug overdose, naming children after cities, this is not how British custody law works, unrealistic adoption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:37:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsalovesjack/pseuds/elsalovesjack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2014, forty-five-year-old John Hamish Watson is tricked into marrying twenty-six-year-old rock star William "Sherlock" Scott Holmes of The Masterminds. The younger man happens to be a cocaine addict and his adult daughter's longtime celebrity crush. Add Sherlock's two young children into the mix and it's a recipe for disaster. Or is it?</p><p>Just a note about the many pairings: This is mainly Johnlock and the other pairings involving John and Sherlock are past relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published fanfiction. It isn't very good, however someone may like reading it. It's a WIP and is one of five stories I am working on (it is the only one I've published), so updates might be rare. However, my goal is to finish this story within a year. 
> 
> Also, please note that the first part of Chapter 1 is written in the style of a television transcript. This is not how the bulk of the story will be written. As of right now, the rest of the story is just in standard past tense with a third person limited point of view (from John's POV). 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the crazy plot. I am not making any money from this.

**[Partial Transcript of a 2013 BBC Special Interview with Four Members of The Masterminds]**

Bill Wiggins “Lead Guitar/Backing Vocals”: I founded the band when I was sixteen you see. There were four of us then. Me on lead guitar and singing, my step-brother Phil on the second guitar, Phil’s ex-girlfriend Sally on bass, and my posh cousin Seb Wilkes on drums.

[Camera stays focused on Bill Wiggins as the off-screen female interviewer begins to ask questions.]

Interviewer: So, there was no Sherlock Holmes?

Bill Wiggins: Nah, he came later.

Interviewer: Was your band called The Masterminds at that time?

Bill Wiggins: [Chuckles] No. My cousin Seb insisted that we call the band The What. [Laughs louder] You know like the band The Who? It was a rubbish name, but Seb owned all of the sound equipment so we were stuck with it.

Interviewer: When did Sherlock come into the picture?

Bill Wiggins: We discovered him two years after the band was first formed.

[Someone snorts off camera. Camera moves to show a pretty woman with curly hair sitting beside Bill.]

Sally Donovan “Bass Guitar”: If you hear the git tell the story, he discovered us.

Bill Wiggins: Well, I guess he sorta did. He came to one of our gigs and insulted our band name. Then, he said my singing was rubbish and our drummer an embarrassment, but we had potential to be as big as The Beatles if we let him join.

Sally Donovan: He was this posh sixteen-year-old Oxford dropout in a suit telling us how to play rock music. It was ridiculous. I actually think he was high at the time.

[Camera pans to a man with a sour expression and messy brown hair]

Phil Anderson “Rhythm Guitar”: Of course he was high. When is Sherlock not high?

Bill Wiggins: [Rolls his eyes] He wasn’t that high when we met him. Anyway, my cousin Seb recognized him right away. Apparently, they went to Eton together for a bit. Seb obviously didn’t like Sherlock and decided it would be fun to have him sing a song with us and you know, embarrass himself or something. We had him sing a few covers with us and—

Sally Donovan: The git was amazing.

Phil Anderson: [Gives a resigned sigh] The bastard was obviously meant to be a star.

Bill Wiggins: [Grins at the camera] We all begged him to join the band, after the show ended.

Phil Anderson: [Laughs] Everyone but Seb that is. He threatened to quit the band and take the sound equipment and drums with him if Sherlock joined.

Sally Donovan: We chose Sherlock over Seb and the rest is history.

Bill Wiggins: Sherlock took over lead vocals, renamed the band “The Masterminds”, and bought us new sound equipment and an expensive drum kit. It took a couple weeks to find a new drummer but we eventually found DI. A few months later, we were signed to a label.

[Camera pans to the face of a young man with dirty-blond hair.]

Dmitri Ivan “DI” Dimmock “Drums”: I was actually the second drummer they found. Sherlock scared the first one off.

Bill Wiggins: According to Sherlock, the first replacement drummer was an idiot.

DI Dimmock: According to Sherlock, everyone is an idiot.

[Everyone laughs]

Interviewer: Considering all of the trouble that has surrounded Sherlock Holmes, with his cocaine addiction, his volatile marriage to the older bisexual actress Irene Adler, and the scandal of his recent declaration of homosexuality, has there ever been a time where you considered kicking him out of the band?

DI Dimmock: Without Sherlock, there is no band. He’s what makes The Masterminds well—The Masterminds.

Bill Wiggins: Plus, we couldn’t really judge him about the cocaine in the beginning. We were all taking the stuff, me especially. I think I did it more than him before we all got clean. Well, before everyone but Sherlock got clean.

Phil Anderson: Bill is right. For the first few years after we got signed, kicking Sherlock out of the band for drugs would have been pretty hypocritical. Now, even if we tried to kick him out for the drugs he would just throw our pasts into our faces. Anyway, like DI said, without Sherlock there really is no band. We can’t kick him out, and besides the drugs, we really have no reason to.

Sally Donovan: We thought about kicking him out for being a wanker a few times though, but that is not really a good reason either. We knew he was a wanker when he joined.

[A few of the other members chuckle]

Interviewer: You say you have no real reason to kick him out of the band, but what about his divorce, string of male lovers, and—

Sally Donovan: [Glares at the camera] I don’t understand why the fact that Sherlock sleeps with men is such a big fucking deal, and his relationship with Irene is his business. The only thing that affected us as a band was when his addiction to cocaine started to become a real issue. When he first joined the band, he only used cocaine recreationally like the rest of us did. It wasn’t until our third world tour that he became a true addict.

Interviewer: [Clears throat] That was when the whole “Richard Brook” scandal happened?

Phil Anderson: [Shifts uncomfortably in his seat] Yeah, we all let Sherlock down then.

Bill Wiggins: I always knew that the Irish bastard was lying!

DI Dimmock: [Turns to Bill] No you didn’t. We all thought that Sherlock plagiarized the songs. [Turns from Bill to the camera] We never actually saw him write anything, so it was easy to believe that they were stolen. Especially, when Sally—

Sally Donovan: [Turns to glare at DI Dimmock] Don’t try to blame this on me! That journalist Kitty Riley convinced us all. She just approached me first and—

Interviewer: She approached you?

Sally Donovan: [Runs a hand through her hair] She wanted an exclusive, about the disbandment of the The Masterminds. She thought that we were going to break-up in order to avoid being part of the lawsuit against Sherlock or something like that. I told her to piss off but she played all of these old home movies of what looked like a young Richard Brook singing acoustic versions of our songs years before we became a band and—I fell for it.

Phil Anderson: [Puts a hand on Sally Donovan’s shoulder and addresses the camera] You have to understand that as musicians, we take plagiarism very seriously. We all hated the idea that we rose to stardom on stolen songs. We felt like Sherlock tricked us into becoming criminals, and the idea that Sherlock would stoop to plagiarism was extremely easy. Sherlock is a—

Sally Donovan: A psychopath. He doesn’t have friends. He has bandmates, employees, and lovers. I care about the git but only because I’ve been in a band with him for almost ten years—I care about him by default. However, I am under no illusions that he cares about me or anyone else for that matter. Hell, the man doesn’t even visit his kids—

Bill Wiggins: Sally! Sherlock has his reasons—

Sally Donovan: Yeah, I know but—

Phil Anderson: Sally, this isn’t the time to discuss that.

Sally Donovan: [Sighs] You’re right. [She crosses her arms, obviously done talking for the time being]

Interviewer: [Clears throat] So what happened during the Richard Brook scandal?

Phil Anderson: [Looks at the camera with a hard expression] We decided to break-up the band and Sherlock overdosed for the first time. He almost died. [He looks close to tears] Sherlock is a git, but he’s like an extremely annoying younger brother. If he had died, I don’t know what I would have done.

Interviewer: Was the overdose accidental?

Sally Donovan: [Almost growls at the camera] You know it wasn’t. The whole world knows that it wasn’t.

Interviewer: So, Sherlock Holmes tried to kill himself?

Phil Anderson: [Grits teeth] Yes, next question.

Interviewer: [Clears throat] Okay, um, what happened once he got out of the hospital?

Bill Wiggins: A few months later, Richard Brook was found to be a con man named James Moriarty, and we apologized to Sherlock. Sherlock called us idiots, stopped hanging out with us after concerts, started taking more drugs, and married Irene Adler. These last six years I don’t think Sherlock’s talked to us more than absolutely necessary.

DI Dimmock: [Shakes his head sadly] It’s true. He writes us notes if he needs to say more than two sentences to any of us at one time. That or he sends a message through Greg or Molly.

Interviewer: Greg or Molly? 

Sally Donovan: His bodyguard or his personal assistant.

Interviewer: So, did you all approve of Sherlock’s marriage to Irene Adler?

Bill Wiggins: Hell no! Sherlock was only twenty, and Irene was was obviously using Sherlock to increase her fame. But, she was having his kid so there was nothing we could really do about it. Not that Sherlock would have listened to us anyway.

Phil Anderson: We sent some messages through Greg though.

Interviewer: Did he reply?

Phil Anderson: [Snorts] Yeah. He said to “piss off”.

Interviewer: Sherlock Holmes’ marriage to Irene Adler lasted a lot longer than everyone expected. Did you expect the marriage to last two years?

Sally Donovan: I expected it to end much sooner. Especially after Zurich was born. Sherlock only visited his son twice, during the first year after his birth. We all knew that he and Irene preferred to live in separate residences, but we at least thought Sherlock would visit her more after the birth of their son.

Bill Wiggins: Sherlock has his reasons for not visiting.

Interviewer: What reasons?

Bill Wiggins: I am not at liberty to say, but if people paid attention to the details, it would be obvious to deduce.

Phil Anderson: Stop it with the deduction nonsense. You sound like Sherlock.

Bill Wiggins: I’ll take that as a complement.

Interviewer: Did he visit his wife more once his daughter was born?

Sally Donovan: No, I’m not even sure he’s even met Verona. His divorce with Irene was finalized before her birth. Irene was already living with Soo Lin Yao by the time she was born.

Interviewer: [To Sally] You sound really close to Irene Adler.

Sally Donovan: I’m not. I’m friends with Sherlock’s landlady. We have tea every time I stop by Sherlock’s place to make sure he hasn’t died.

Interviewer: His landlady? I thought he lived at The Ritz London?

Sally Donovan: Officially, he does.

Interviewer: What do you mean by—

DI Dimmock: Next question. This time ask us about our music not the personal life of our notorious frontman.

Interviewer: Yes, of course. Your next tour starts once Sherlock gets out of rehab correct?

DI Dimmock: [Narrows his eyes] Correct. Yes, it is his fifth stint in rehab. No, we will not talk about it. But we will talk about our music.

Interviewer: [Clears throat] Right. So, are you playing songs exclusively from your new album or...

 

ooo

 

John Watson sighed and turned off the television. He had just spent the last half-hour watching a year-old special on his daughter’s favorite band. He was hoping that doing so would help him understand his twenty-one-year-old daughter. Instead, he just felt confused. Apparently, the “Sherlock” his daughter had been crushing on since she was fourteen was a cocaine addict and absentee father—not that he could judge the man about the latter as he was once one himself, but still.

So far, “Mission: Understand Abigail Rose Watson” was a bust.

John picked up the three-month-old edition of the gossip magazine that his daughter adored reading that he had stolen from the local library.

He opened it at random to a page featuring expensively dressed children of famous people of all things. There were the obligatory photos of toddler Prince George, pictures of what looked like the Beckham children at the airport, and a photo of a little boy and girl covered in mud.

John examined the last photo and laughed.

It depicted a five-year-old boy with a riotous mop of dark curls covered in mud and purposefully rubbing mud into his three-year-old sister’s expensive pinafore dress. The photo beside that one showed the same two children sitting in the mud-puddle while the boy read to his sister out of what looked like an encyclopedia of all things, while a stunning brunette and an Asian woman laughed at the scene.

The caption underneath the photo read: _Zurich and Verona Holmes spend a day in the park with their mother Irene Adler and her artist fiancée Soo Lin Yao_.

John blinked at the caption—Zurich and Verona. Those were the strange names mentioned in the interview he had just watched.

The photo was of Sherlock Holmes’ children apparently.

He took a moment to lament the fact that such beautiful children had such a horrible father before sighing and turning the page. The article on the next page was about the latest fashion trends for women his daughter’s age. Hopefully, reading it would help his weekly dinner with his daughter go better than the last one.

 

ooo

 

“So, I heard that teal nail polish is all the rage this season,” the former army doctor said over a plate of cheap Indian food.

Abby Watson raised a pale eyebrow. “Huh.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the beige bedsit.

“So, do you still like your major?” John asked to fill the silence.

“Yes,” the young woman practically growled. “I like studying art. I’m not going to change it. You should just be happy I finally decided to go to university.”

John Watson started to stammer. “No, I—that’s not what I meant. I was just making conversation.”

The young woman visibly relaxed.

“Oh,” she said as she picked at her food. “Sorry, about that. It’s just Mike’s been at me to switch to something ‘more practical’—”

“Mike means well,” John said.

It was impossible to hate Mike Stamford, but the fact that the widower had recently married John’s ex-wife Mary was still hard for him to swallow. Mary and John had been divorced for fifteen years but deep down the war veteran would always love her.

“Yeah, but he’s bloody annoying sometimes with all the smiling and optimism. His twins are no better,” she said before taking a bite of food. “There has to be something in the Stamford DNA that makes them so—chipper.”

John laughed, and his daughter smiled back.

The laughter died down and, after a beat of silence he spoke again. “So, I watched an interview with your favorite band, The Masterminds—”

“You did?” the blonde young woman asked with quite a bit of doubt.

“Yeah, it was interesting—”

“I’m sure it was,” she said absently, as she looked at her mobile phone to check the time before looking back at him. “Look Dad, I’m glad you’re finally trying to take an interest in the things I like after all these years, but I really don’t have time to do this whole ‘father-daughter dinner' thing every week. I have summer classes, an internship, and a job. Plus, my boyfriend—”

John felt like he had been shot again, except this time instead of the shoulder, he was hit in the heart.

“Oh, yeah. I get it.”

“I don’t want to never see you. Really, having you back in England has been great. I just think that we should only have dinner once a month.”

“Sure,” John said. “I understand.”

With tight smile, a rushed kiss on the cheek, and a promise to visit him next month, John Watson’s daughter left.

John willed himself not to cry.

He was going on forty-five-years-old, unemployed, and broken. He had spent his life serving his country, and lost everything because of it. He lost his marriage, missed watching his daughter grow-up, and now lost his ability to be a surgeon. Sure, he could work at a clinic or do something similar but John had never wanted to practice general medicine.

He stared at the drawer where his illegal gun was held.

To end it all would be so simple—

No.

He and Abby were not close but he would not do that to his daughter.

Taking a deep breath, John made his way to his laptop to look for a job.

With blind determination, he applied for every job he saw no matter how ridiculous. For the following weeks he repeated the same ritual every night.

By the end of the month, he was only contacted by one potential employer with the offer of an interview. He should have known that the job he received the interview for would be the most ridiculous of them all.

 

ooo

 

“Do you have any experience in the childcare industry?” the imposing owner of the large office with the strange umbrella-pattern wallpaper asked.

“No.”

“Then why did you apply for the job as a live-in nanny?” the man in his thirties asked.

“I need a job.”

“Obviously,” the man said as he sneered at John’s worn suit. “Luckily, for you I am in the market for a bodyguard more than a nanny for my niece and nephew. You will of course still be in charge of their general care, however with your military history; I will feel secure in the fact that they are safe. You are not unintelligent. I imagine you will quickly learn efficient ways to care for two young children.”

“Why not just hire a bodyguard and a nanny?”

“This option is much more economical and less conspicuous.”

John had nothing to say to that. Well, he could have said that having a forty-five-year-old male nanny was quite conspicuous. However, he refrained.

“I took the liberty of looking into your medical files. I understand that taking up boxing has cured you of your psychosomatic limp and your PTSD is relatively under control?”

“Those are—”

“Classified? Yes,” the man looked through the file. “It says here that you still have the occasional nightmares. If you do have one, do try your best to be discreet. If they become too much of a problem and scare the children your employment will be terminated.”

“So, I have the job?”

“Of course. Having a medical doctor with military training as my niece and nephew’s nanny is ideal. I also imagine that getting a chance to truly act like a father figure will be beneficial to you as well, considering the fact that you missed your own child’s upbringing.”

“How—”

“No matter,” the younger man waved off. “If you accept the position you will be caring for two children, ages five and three. Both are intellectually advanced for their ages. You will receive a set of rooms in the children’s London residence and will be on call 24 hours a day except on the weekends when they will reside with either me or their paternal grandparents. If you become ill or have a family emergency, allowances will be made.”

“How much does the position pay?”

“£500,000 a year.” 

John gaped at the man.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am completely serious. You will be performing the duties of bodyguard, nanny, and doctor. This is just my estimate of how much those three salaries would be combined, along with some money included for the discretion that the identity of my brother and his children warrants.”

“Discretion?”

“Yes. My brother and by extension his children are quite famous. The children’s previous nanny took advantage of this.”

“Who is your brother?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “If you accept the position and sign the contract you will find out.”

“A contract?”

“Yes. A fifteen-year contract. I am in the market for a permanent nanny who will be contractually involved in both the children’s lives until the younger of the children, my niece, turns eighteen. Six weeks ago, the children lost their mother and future step-mother tragically. My brother is not emotionally capable of bonding with the children and in a sense I am hiring you as a surrogate father for them. I would fill the role myself, but my job is quite demanding of my time.”

“What about the children’s grandparents?”

John was starting to panic. This was insane. Signing his life away for fifteen years? He’d be raising a stranger’s two children until he was sixty.

“My parents are quite elderly, and putting the children in their care full-time would just set them up for more heart-ache when they eventually pass on. Before you ask, the children have no maternal relatives to speak of. If they did, I doubt I would have received legal custody as easily as I did. If you do not accept this job, I will find someone else who will.”

John took a breath.

“If I broke the contract?”

“You would be liable for £5,000,000 for the emotional distress felt by the children due to the loss of their primary caregiver.”

“If I were to die before the end of the contract?”

“Nobody would be liable for the sum. That would be ridiculous.”

The whole situation was ridiculous.

However, John was almost certain he was going to take the job. It wasn’t about the money. He had no use for that much money. Sure it would help him pay off his daughter’s university bills but that wasn’t why he was going to take the job.

The idea that he would get the chance to be needed again. That he would get a second chance at being a father—

The man behind the desk was offering him a reason to live, and by the smug look on his face he knew it too.

John squared his jaw.

“Where do I sign?”

The younger man handed him the contract.

John signed every page where his signature was needed without reading any of them and handed the contract back.

“You will start your position this coming Monday. I will send a car to your place of residence at noon. I already have your address on file. I will make sure that a copy of the contract is placed in your new rooms so that you can read the confidentiality clause in full. There will also be a file on both of your new charges. Allergies, likes and dislikes etc. You will have three hours to memorize the file before my parents arrive with the children,” the man said before standing and offering his hand. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you Mr. Watson.”

John shook it.

“I don’t even know your name,” John said slightly dumbstruck. “I just signed away my life to you and I have no clue what your name is.”

“My name is Holmes. Mycroft Holmes.”

John nodded.

“’Mycroft’? Well, that’s a lot more interesting than ‘John’. Am I allowed to know the names of your niece and nephew now? You know, since I’ll be taking care of them for the next fifteen years—”

“Certainly. Their names are Verona and Zurich. My brother’s deceased ex-wife thought it was amusing to name her children after the cities where they were conceived.”

John blinked.

“I’m going to be taking care of Zurich and Verona Holmes? The rock star Sherlock Holmes’ children?”

“Ah, I see you’ve read one of your daughter’s favorite gossip magazines in an attempt to relate to her. The attempt failed I imagine.”

“How did you know? Well, of course you knew. You seem to know everything,” John muttered before staring at Mycroft Holmes with a wide-eyed expression. “Sherlock Holmes is _your_ brother?”

The fact that the stuffy man before him was the brother of the eyeliner-wearing rock star was mind-boggling.

“Unfortunately, Sherlock is my brother. He is also a sociopathic cocaine addict and will have minimal contact with his children. Therefore, it will be a few months until you can get an autograph for your besotted daughter. Why all these women still flock after my homosexual brother after he has come out of the closet is beyond me.”

“I do not plan to ask for his autograph.”

“You do not plan to ask for one, but you will.”

“I—”

“Yes, I know you are quite convinced that you won’t Mr. Watson. We can continue this argument at a later date. I have some business in Russia I need to attend to. My assistant Anthea will see you out.”


	2. Chapter 2

John Watson sat in his beige bedsit staring at his computer screen as he waited for his internet to connect to the faulty internet server that his bedsit provided.

It had been eight hours since he had accepted Mycroft Holmes’ crazy job offer and he had not told anyone about his new position. He did not plan to until he had thoroughly read through the confidentiality clause. He had no doubt that he could not afford whatever lawsuit Mycroft Holmes would throw at him if he said the wrong thing to the wrong person. It was not like he really had anyone to tell about his new job anyway.

After finally getting clean, his sister Harry had moved to Canada with Clara to get a new start. John only spoke to them via telephone once a year on Christmas Eve. John’s parents had taken Mary’s side after the divorce and had not spoken to him in years. Mary and Mike were friendly enough with him but he did not consider them friends really. Actually, John did not have any friends. There was Bill Murray but he was off on yet another tour of duty. There was also his ex-girlfriend Sarah Sawyer that he occasionally had coffee with, but they really were not that close. Then, there was his daughter Abby who after canceling their now monthly “father-daughter dinners” had not answered any of his phone calls, texts, or emails in the last month.

John Watson truly had nobody to talk to about his strange new position as caretaker to a rock star’s children. It was for that reason that he was about to research the family he was about to get involved with instead of talking to his own family.

Once his internet finally connected, he went to Google and started his research with Irene Adler.

After searching the actress’ name he was confronted with article after article about her recent murder. Apparently, the actress’ female fiancée Soo Lin Yao’s insane homophobic brother had strangled the couple in their sleep. Both women had only been thirty. Luckily, Irene Adler’s children had been staying with their paternal grandparents at the time of the murders. The murderous brother was taken into custody but had somehow escaped. His body was found a few hours later with a gunshot wound to the right temple—suicide.

John’s search into Irene Adler naturally lead to links to articles about the fate of her two children. John Watson was taken aback when he read that a few days prior to the deaths of Irene Adler and Soo Lin Yao; Sherlock Holmes had signed away his parental rights so that Soo Lin Yao could become the legal parent of both children. Soo Lin Yao never got the chance to fulfill the steps to become the legal mother of both children.

After the death of Irene Adler, Sherlock Holmes had no claim on his children since he had signed over his parental rights. Due to the lack of maternal relatives, custody of Zurich and Verona Holmes was granted to their paternal uncle Mycroft Holmes, a man with a  
“minor position in the British government”.

After looking at a few photographs of his future charges, John looked up information on their father Sherlock Holmes. After reading a few news articles, he read the musician’s Wikipedia page.

 

**_Sherlock Holmes_ **

**_From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia_ **

**_William Sherlock Scott Holmes_ ** _(born 6 January 1988), better known by his stage name **Sherlock Holmes** , is a twenty-six-year-old English musician, singer, songwriter, and model, best known as the lead vocalist of The Masterminds. _

**_Early Life_ **

_Sherlock Holmes was born and raised in Amersham,_ _Buckinghamshire where he received a “comfortable yet exceedingly dull middle-class upbringing”. He is the second son of physicist and author Violet Holmes (née Martin) and accountant Siger Holmes. His elder brother, Mycroft Holmes, is seven years his senior and has a minor position in the British Government. Sherlock Holmes is of English and French descent and is fluent in seven languages (English, French, German, Spanish, Italian, Russian, and Japanese). As a child, Holmes was a violin prodigy, but it is unknown if he still plays the violin._

_At the age of four, Sherlock Holmes was discovered to be of genius intellect, just like his elder brother had been at a similar age. Holmes' parents chose to homeschool him using an accelerated curriculum until the age of thirteen, when he was admitted into the sixth form of Eton College on scholarship. It was during his time at Eton and close friendship with his roommate, that Sherlock Holmes discovered and fell in love with rock music. After leaving Eton College at fourteen, Holmes attended Oxford and read Chemistry for two years before dropping out at the age of sixteen._

**_Career_ **

_In the summer of 2004, shortly after dropping out of university, Holmes “discovered a  promising band with a dreadful name and a horrid drummer” called The What. After the band’s drummer, a former classmate from Eton College, dared Holmes to sing a few songs with them in attempt to humiliate Holmes, the future rock star accepted the challenge. Holmes’ amazing performance was enough to prompt three out of the four members of The What to beg Holmes to join the band. The only member who protested, the drummer, left the band after Holmes joined. Shortly after Holmes joined the band, The What was renamed The Masterminds and a new drummer was found. With the help of Holmes' star-power, powerful vocals, and catchy original songs, The Masterminds was quickly signed by a major label. The Masterminds’ first album was a huge commercial and critical success and propelled the band and Sherlock Holmes into stardom. As of 2014, The Masterminds is considered the most influential band of the new millennium and is slated to go down in history along with iconic bands like The Beatles, The Who, and The Rolling Stones._

**_Personal Life_ **

_Sherlock Holmes eloped with actress Irene Adler on 8 November 2008 after only four months of dating. Holmes was twenty at the time and Adler was twenty-four. Six months later, on 15 May 2009 their son Zurich Holmes was born. Holmes and Adler famously stayed at different residences during their two years of marriage. The divorce between Holmes and Adler was finalized on 1 December 2010. Adler was six months pregnant with her and Holmes’ second child at the time and was already living with her female lover, the Chinese artist Soo Lin Yao. Three months after the divorce, on 2 March 2011, Verona Holmes was born._

_Soon after his divorce with Adler, Sherlock Holmes started seeing the former child star Janine Hawkins. Their romance lasted a mere three months, and ended with Hawkins giving an explosive tell-all interview to The Sun. However, despite the interview, Holmes and Hawkins are reported to now be close friends._

_In September 2013, Sherlock Holmes came out as gay after photos of him passionately kissing a French male model were leaked to the press. When asked whether his relationships with women were real, Sherlock Holmes stated, “Of course, they were real. I may be primarily homosexual, but I have always had bisexual tendencies. However, until recently, I have only found women that I wanted to pursue long-term formal relationships with. Therefore, I found coming out as primarily homosexual to be a waste of time. Now, piss off.”._

_Sherlock Holmes is currently single, but is rumored to have a longstanding “friends with benefits” relationship with his former Eton College roommate, the music producer Victor Trevor._

_Sherlock Holmes has been addicted to cocaine since the age of fifteen. He considers himself to be a “high-functioning addict” and has been to rehab five times. Holmes has also been known to dabble in other illicit substances. After he was framed for plagiarism in early 2008, Holmes famously attempted suicide by intentional overdose of cocaine. After his failed suicide attempt, Holmes has accidentally overdosed four times._

_Holmes is notorious for being an absentee father and is rumored to have never even met his daughter Verona Holmes. In May of 2014, he signed away his parental rights to his children so that his ex-wife Irene Adler’s fiancée Soo Lin Yao could formally become the children’s second parent. Unfortunately, Soo Lin Yao was murdered along with Adler before she could formally become the legal parent of the two children she helped raise. Due to the fact that Sherlock Holmes had signed away his parental rights to Zurich and Verona Holmes, the children were placed in the care of their paternal uncle Mycroft Holmes after their mothers’ deaths. The wayward rock star has made no attempts to contest the custody arrangement as of June 2014._

**_Lawsuits_ **

_Sherlock Holmes has been charged with possession of illegal substances twelve times, however somehow the musician has never been convicted. There are rumors that his brother’s “not so minor” position in the British Government has something to do with this._

_In February of 2008, Sherlock Holmes was sued by an Irish con man who went by the name “Richard Brook” (real name James Moriarty). The Irishman successfully convinced the journalist Kitty Riley that Sherlock Holmes had stolen all The Masterminds’ songs from him by using convincing modified video footage of what looked like a young “Richard Brook” singing acoustic versions of The Masterminds’ songs years before the band had even been formed. During the ensuing scandal and the brief disbandment of The Masterminds, Holmes attempted suicide. In April 2008, “Richard Brook” was found to be a fraud and all charges were dropped. However, it is rumored that the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and his bandmates never completely healed._

_After the “Richard Brook” scandal, the journalist Kitty Riley was blacklisted from all major news outlets and is rumored to now be working in a shoe factory in Essex. James Moriarty (aka Richard Brook), eluded arrest for a year before very publicly committing suicide by hanging himself outside of Sherlock Holmes' London residence on Montague Street. After the suicide of James Moriarty, Holmes moved into a permanent suite at The Ritz London._

 

John quit reading Sherlock Holmes’ Wikipedia page once he finished the “Lawsuits” section. He really had no interest in reading a long list of the man’s musical awards. Furthermore, he felt a bit creepy after learning so much about a man he had never met.

John sat back and closed his laptop. He did not really know what to think about Sherlock Holmes. John tried not to judge people that he did not know, but the young man sounded like a train wreck and a horrible father. After willingly signing up for five tours of duty and missing Abby’s whole childhood, John Watson would never win father of the year; however, Sherlock Holmes made John sound like an amazing father in comparison.

The fact that John was confident in the fact that he was a better parental figure than Sherlock Holmes made the thought of raising the man’s children a lot less daunting. With that strangely comforting thought on his mind, John got ready for bed.

 

ooo

 

When John arrived at his new residence four days after signing his life away to raise children he did not even know, he was shocked by the sight before him. The house at 220 Baker Street was very pretty but not as lavish as John had expected the residence of the children of a celebrity to be. Upon entering the house, and being given a tour by the previous owner, a Mrs. Marie Turner, John was informed that the three story building had until recently been used as a set of three flats. However, at the urging of her son, Mrs. Turner had decided to remodel the building and make it the single-residence that it once was in order to sell it.

“Your rooms are over here dear,” the plump elderly woman said as she showed John to a bedroom and connected bath on the second floor. “I imagine your children will be staying upstairs?”

“Actually, they’re not—”

“Don’t worry. Your brother-in-law explained it all. I think it’s wonderful that you are taking the initiative to raise your wayward husband’s children. Being separated from him, even if he is just a building away must be difficult but the children’s welfare comes first.”

“What?”

The woman looked at her watch.

“Oh, look at the time. I’m going to miss my flight,” she beamed at John. “With the money from selling this place I can finally move to Italy! It’s a dream. Positively a dream—”

With that the woman flitted away.

John sat on his bed as the driver brought his two pathetic suitcases into the room.

“Is there anything else you need, sir?” the driver asked.

He needed to know what the fuck was going on.

“No, thank you.”  

The driver handed him a large manila envelope and left.

John opened it and found a key along with a stack of papers. A brief look at the key, told him that it was to the house. He looked at the first stapled set of papers and saw that it read “Zurich Hamish Holmes”.

John felt a twinge of sympathy at the fact that not only did poor Zurich have an unfortunate first name, but shared John’s unfortunate middle name as well. John then skimmed the information in the pages. John learned that Zurich hated his first name and preferred to be called Hamish. He was five but had the reading-level of a teenager, loved chemistry, dinosaurs, and zebras. He was allergic to strawberries and hated all leafy vegetables. After a few minutes of reading the in-depth information on the playtime habits of a five-year-old, John got bored and moved onto the next set of papers. He figured that he could attempt to learn that first-hand, and refer to the papers again if needed.

The set of papers that read “Verona Charlotte Holmes” told John that Verona simply went by her first name. She was three, already could read as well as a six-year-old, but did not talk much. She loved puppies, baking, and math. She had no allergies but hated it when different food items touched each other and anything artificially grape-flavored; however, she did like real grapes as long as they were seedless. John completely bypassed the section on playtime habits.

John then moved onto the copy of the contract he signed that was included in the envelope. The first few pages were pretty standard, since they just detailed his salary. The confidentiality clause basically stated that John could not sell information about the children or pictures to the press. The next page repeated the same information in regards to selling information about Sherlock Holmes to the press. The page after that detailed the fact that John was liable for £5,000,000 if he quit the job early. The last few pages of paperwork gave him pause. They detailed the fact that the true nature of “the marriage” would never be revealed to any unauthorized third party nor would he attempt to end the marriage before fifteen years had passed or he would be sued for £20,000,000.

The marriage?

What?

With shaking hands, John picked up the last set of papers. It included a marriage license that had to be forged despite the almost perfect replica of his signature at the bottom. The signature was only imperfect because instead of reading “John H. Watson” it read “John H. Watson-Holmes”.

John started to breathe deeply. This could not be happening. Taking a second, to calm himself, he looked at the signature beside the forgery of his signature. It read, “William S. S. Watson-Holmes”.

Mycroft Holmes had arranged it so that John was legally married to his famous cocaine addict brother.

The man had tricked him.

John saw red.

The question was why did Mycroft Holmes want his younger brother to be married to a stranger nineteen years his senior?

The next stack of papers answered that question.

They were adoption papers for Zurich Hamish Watson-Holmes and Verona Charlotte Watson-Holmes along with two new birth certificates that listed John as the father and William Holmes as the second parent.

Mycroft obviously wanted his younger brother to regain parental rights to his children as well as some form of custody; however, not even Mycroft's’ government influence could keep social services from taking children away from a famous drug addict. The necessity of the marriage made a strange sort of sense, but the logic was twisted in John’s opinion. With shaking hands he took out his mobile phone and called Mycroft Holmes’ office.

“Hello, you’ve reached the office of Mycroft Holmes. This is Anthea speaking.”

“Hello,” John gritted his teeth. “My name is John Watson I need to speak with—”

“Hold on one moment.”

There was a click and John heard the voice of Mycroft on the other line.

“Hello Mr. Watson, I take it you’re finished reading the paperwork I sent you.”

“I—” John practically growled as he clenched a fist. “Bloody hell! There is no way that what you are doing is legal. I’m not even sure what you are even doing? You...you are paying me to be married to your brother? What purpose does that serve? Is it so that he can have custody of his kids? From what I read he sure as hell doesn’t deserve it. Fuck, he doesn’t even want it!”

“My brother does not know what he wants.”

“Okay, so let’s say you’re right. Your brother is too drugged up to realize that he wants his children, but why not just adopt them yourself and transfer custody later. Why have me do it and then marry your brother? Why—”

“My mother wants him to settle down. She thinks that marriage will be good for him.”

“He was married once already—”

“Irene Adler was a bad match.”

“So a straight former army doctor with PTSD old enough to be his father is better?”

“You are bisexual, and I assure you that your new in-laws are significantly older than you.”

“I am not bisexual! You know what? I don’t know why I am arguing with you. You are obviously insane.”

“If you are worried about the plausibility of the marriage, my assistant Anthea is already drafting the story we are giving the press. I will forward you a copy of it before publication so that you can tell your relatives the correct version of events once the story breaks.”

“So that I can tell my relatives—oh god,” John swallowed. “No. Fuck no. I’m not doing this.”

Mycroft’s voice turned to ice.

“Yes, you are,” the younger man said calmly. "You signed the contracts.”

“Those contracts won’t stand in court.”

“Even if they don’t, I have ways to make you comply. Your sister’s new business in Canada, your estranged parents’ restaurant, your ex-wife’s job, your daughter’s internship? I can make them all disappear,” the younger man threatened. 

With terrifying clarity, John realized that he had made a deal with the devil.

“Your...your brother agreed to this?”

“My brother will agree to anything to keep his band from losing its’ record deal. Well, he won’t agree to get clean or visit his children, but having a marriage of convenience is doable for him. Plus, I made it quite clear that if he did not agree to the marriage, the next time he was arrested, I would not help him get out of jail time.”

“I still don’t get why you’re really doing this. Why me?”

“The moment I read your file, I knew that you were the one.”

“’The one’?”

“The one person who would be able to get my brother clean.”

“You’re delusional. You don’t even know me.”

“I know my brother. It may take some time, but living next door to someone as intriguing as you—being married to someone full of so many contradictions is going to inspire him to change.”

“You’re mental. There is nothing at all interesting about me.”

“Mr. Watson, the name calling is so childish of you,” Mycroft said mockingly. “And you are wrong—you are one of the most interesting people I have ever met.”

John ran a hand down his face. He knew that he was positively trapped.

He tried his trump card. Mycroft Holmes obviously loved his niece and nephew maybe if he convinced him that this whole illogical scheme would eventually hurt them he could get out of the mess he had gotten himself into.

“What about Zu-Hamish and Verona? How will they feel when they find out that you hired someone to adopt them—that you paid someone to pretend to love them?”

“Oh, John. May I call you John?” Mycroft asked before continuing without letting John answer. “You know that you are already on your way to loving the children. You haven’t even met them yet and you already feel responsible for them. After seeing the adoption papers that make you their legal father, you are dying to finally get the chance to be a parent—to do everything with them that you missed doing with Abigail. You say you want to walk away from all I am offering you, but we both know that deep down that is not the case. You are dying for a second chance at a family.”

John could not deny what Mycroft was saying.

The younger man chuckled.

“The children will never learn that someone was paid to pretend to love them, because that is not the case. The love you feel for them is completely real and you care nothing for money. By the time this is all over, the children will know you well enough to realize that.”

John gave a resigned sigh.

There was no use fighting a losing battle.

“Who will know the truth?”

“My brother, my assistant, you, and myself. If anyone else asks, you met Sherlock through a civilian-soldier pen pal program while overseas. You knew him only by the name 'William Scott' and conversed for the last three years without exchanging photographs. When you were invalided home in February, you decided to meet in person. You accepted him for his demons and he yours. You supported Sherlock’s decision to give his parental rights to Soo Lin Yao, because that was what Sherlock thought was best due to his drug addiction. With the murder of Irene Adler and Soo Lin Yao and after weeks of deliberation, you and Sherlock were compelled to elope last week so that you could provide the children with the two parent household that was stolen from them with the death of their mothers. I agreed to hand over custody to you so that you could adopt the children, and Sherlock was listed as the second parent. Unfortunately, due to Sherlock’s drug addiction the adoption was immediately contested by social services, but thanks to an arrangement with you and the children living in 220 Baker Street and Sherlock living in 221B Baker Street while he reportedly attempts to get clean, along with thinly veiled bribery, you retained custody of the children. Like I said earlier, I will forward a copy of the story my assistant is drafting for the press before it’s publication—that will help keep the story of the sequence of events consistent.”

John swallowed.

“Okay,” he took a deep breath. “So, for this to be believable won’t Sherlock and I have to be seen in public together? What if someone asks to see the letters and emails?”

“When the time comes, I will arrange a few public outings to give your marriage some legitimacy. As for the letters, just tell people they are private.”

“Will Sherlock ever want to see the children? I read that—”

“Sherlock will want to see them in time. Right now he is too busy killing himself to realize that staying away from them is not in their best interest.”

“Their best interest?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said before clearing his throat. “Look John, I know that this is a lot to take in but I am sure you are the right person for the job. I have a feeling about you and my feelings are never wrong—you are the one who will inspire Sherlock to get clean and to become a father to the children he is afraid to let himself love.”

“I—”

“Sorry John, I have no time to talk right now. The North Koreans are stirring up trouble again. Be sure to put the wedding ring that I arranged to be placed on your nightstand on before my mother and father arrive with the children. Sherlock is already has his ring, but will not begin wearing it until your marriage is announced to the press. I will arrange a meeting between the two of you before the news of your marriage breaks in two months’ time.”

“He lives right next door, why don’t I just—”

“I will arrange it. Do not contact him before then,” Mycroft demanded before hanging up the phone.  

John set his phone down and approached the nightstand. As he put on his wedding ring, he asked himself the same question for what felt like the umpteenth time in the last hour. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

 

ooo

 

When the doorbell of 220 Baker Street rang at precisely three o’clock John willed himself not to panic. It was just his children at the door— _his_ children. John could not help but smile at the thought. He hated to admit it but the psychotic Mycroft Holmes was right—he was already falling in love with Hamish and Verona and he hadn't even met them yet. 

John Watson had always wanted a big family and now he was a father of three. The thought made him giddy. The situation was surreal and ridiculous but John had decided to just focus on the positive side of the whole thing. He had a second chance to be a father—he had a reason to live.

Stealing himself, John answered the front door.

He was immediately embraced by a woman in her early sixties and overwhelmed by the scent of cherry blossoms.

“Oh my goodness, it is so nice to meet you,” the woman gushed as she squeezed John harder.

“Violet, let the poor man go,” a male voice chuckled.

The woman let go of John.

“I’m so sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Violet Holmes, Sherlock’s mother. It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“Not that we were waiting in suspense long,” the grey-haired man who had to be Sherlock’s father said good-naturedly. “Our son sure did a good job of keeping you a secret. We did not even know he had a pen pal. We only learned about you when Mycroft called us yesterday, but you know how Sherlock is,” the man continued before presenting John his hand to shake. “I’m Siger Holmes, Sherlock’s father.”

John shook the proffered hand before addressing both of his unwanted husband’s parents.

“I’m John Watson. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Oh Siger, he’s absolutely perfect!” Sherlock’s mother gushed before addressing John. “You’re a bit old for Sherlock, but I just know you’ll be good for him. Mycroft said you are a doctor?”

“I was a surgeon in the RAMC. Now, I—” John faltered before chuckling awkwardly. “Now I don’t really do much of anything.”

“Well, that’s about to change,” Sherlock’s father said kindly. “Mycroft mentioned that you have decided to be a stay-at-home parent while our son finally gets his act together. It’s selfless of you to be willing to give up living with your husband full-time to take care of Hamish and Verona. It’s an awful situation, but Sherlock is in no state to be around children. Even he knows that.”

“I uh...it’s nothing.”

There was an awkward silence before Sherlock’s mother cleared her throat.

“Well, I’ll just go and fetch the little ones. They’re waiting in the car with Sally, since we wanted to meet you first. She plays bass in Sherlock’s band. She’s such a darling girl, and has been such a help since Irene and Soo Lin passed. It’s such a shame that Sherlock is so rude to her, but he’s rude to everybody. It’s just a quirk of his you see—”

“Violet, stop trying to scare our new son-in-law away.”

“Oh yes, right. I’ll just go get the children. Sally has to get to the recording studio, but I’m sure you’ll meet her soon,” Mrs. Holmes said before going to retrieve her grandchildren from the cab.

John and Mr. Holmes waited in comfortable silence until she returned with Hamish and Verona.

When John saw his two new children his heart stopped. They were two of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. The only thing of equal beauty was his daughter, Abby.

Both children had dark-brown hair, porcelain skin, and eyes of an indescribable blue-green-grey. Hamish had a mop of riotous curls and was the spitting image of his famous father. Verona had wavy hair cut into a bob that was adorned with a dark-blue bow. The little girl’s features seemed to take after her mother’s despite the fact that she had inherited her father’s unique coloring.

“Who are you?” Hamish asked as he clutched his grandmother’s hand and his sister hid behind him.

“I’m—”

“He’s your father’s new husband—your new papa," Mrs. Holmes explained, inadvertently cutting off her new son-in-law. 

Hamish let go of his grandmother’s hand and started to look around the entrance hall.

“Is Dad here?” he asked excitedly.

Mr. Holmes looked at his grandson sadly. “No, Hamish, your father is very busy. You know that.”

The gifted five-year-old looked crestfallen before he locked eyes with John.

“A papa is like a dad right?”

“Yes,” John answered.

“So, you can come to parent things at my school?”

John’s heart melted.

“Sure.”

Hamish beamed at John.

“Awesome! My dad won’t go to those things with me,” the boy said before grabbing his little sister’s hand and dragging her forward. “This is my little sister Verona. She doesn’t like talking but that doesn’t mean she’s stupid. My dad hasn’t met her yet cause he thinks he’ll break her. She really needs a papa.”

Hamish nudged his sister towards John.

John knelt down to her level and hesitated before speaking to the shy little girl. 

“Hi Verona, I’m your..." John trailed off and swallowed nervously. "I'm your new papa.”

The little girl looked at him uncertainly and bit her lip.

“A papa is like a daddy,” Hamish prompted.

Verona’s eyes lit up and she took a step forward to embrace John.

In that moment, John knew that signing a contract with Mycroft Holmes was the best decision he had made in his life.


	3. Chapter 3

John jumped into the life of a stay-at-home father with two small children with all that was in him, but it was a hard adjustment. Both children were obviously still grieving the loss of their mothers and adjusting to a life where five out of seven days of the week were spent with a stranger was hard on the children as well. However, during the last two months of summer before the news of John’s marriage to Sherlock Holmes broke, John, Hamish, and Verona got used to each other.

The three of them did not leave the house together often, as per Mycroft’s orders. As strange as it was to think about, John’s new son and daughter were celebrities and the paparazzi were dying to snap pictures of the grieving children. Therefore, Mycroft thought it was best that for the time being, the children spent their days at home bonding with John. If John was photographed with the children too soon, then the news of the marriage would break and the scrutiny on the children would be even greater.

“Papa, I’m bored.”

John sighed. Hamish was always bored. Not that he could blame him. Spending the majority of his time cooped up in a house for the last two months had to be exhausting for a five-year-old.

John looked up from the coloring book he was coloring in with Verona.

“Do you want to color with us?”

“No.”

“Do you want to read one of my old medical books?”

“No.”

“Do you—”

“I want to go to the park.”

“You know we can’t go to the park.”

Hamish pouted.

“Buddy, just a few more days okay? This weekend your dad and I will announce that we are married and that I’m your new papa, but until then we have to stay away from the paparazzi. You’re uncle—”

“I _hate_ the paparazzi.”

“Hamish don’t use that—”

“I strongly dislike the paparazzi,” Hamish grumbled before returning to his chemistry book.

“Papa,” Verona said as she gestured at the picture she had finished coloring.

“It’s lovely, princess.”

Verona gave a shy smile.

John’s mobile rang, causing him to jump slightly at the ringtone.

It was “Nitrogen” by The Masterminds. Hamish was obsessed with his father’s music and must have changed the ringtone when John wasn’t looking. John gave his precocious son a look before answering his phone.

“Hello?”

“John, you’re alive. Thank god.”

“Mary?”

“Where are you? Mike and I are worried sick. You’re not at your bedsit and your landlord said you moved out months ago. I know you don’t have a job. You don’t have the money to move. Are you at a shelter?”

“No,” John said feeling more than a little insulted.

“Then—”

John took a deep breath. After this weekend, the news of his marriage was going to break anyway. He could not tell his ex-wife about his husband’s identity yet, but he could at least tell her part of the truth—well, part of the truth according to Mycroft.

“I met someone.”

John was met with a shocked silence before Mary spoke.

“You met someone?” she asked. “You’re staying with them?”

“Not exactly,” John stood and made his way out of the playroom so that he could talk in the hall. “He bought me a house, but he doesn’t live with me.”

“He?” Mary asked in a shocked voice. “You’re gay?”

“No,” John scratched the back of his neck. “Officially, I’m bisexual.”

According to the copy of the press release John read the night before, he was bisexual so “officially” seemed like the correct way to describe it.

“Officially?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, my god. John are you a prostitute?” Mary asked hysterically. “Are you ‘officially bisexual’ in order to get more clients?”

“What? I’m not a prostitute!”

“Then why are you letting strange men buy you houses?”

“One man. One house. And he is not a ‘strange man’, he is my husband,” John said a bit defensively.

“Your husband?” Mary asked, stunned.

“Yes. We were married on the first of July.”

“You’ve been married for almost two months and never told me?”

“Yes,” John said feeling guilty.

“Does Abby know?”

John’s guilt increased tenfold. He had not been in contact with his eldest daughter for months. It had just seemed easier that way. It was not as if he could have an honest conversation about his life or even tell her about her new little brother and sister until an official statement about his marriage to Sherlock Holmes was made. He loved Abby dearly but she gossiped like her Aunt Harry.

In John’s defense, his twenty-one-year-old daughter had not once tried to contact him either.

“No, she doesn’t know,” John said with a sigh. “You’re the first person I’ve told. My husband and I want to keep the marriage quiet for the time being.”

“John, I can’t believe you! It takes getting shot for you to finally come home and try to be a real father, and you don’t even last six months before you start shutting her out of your life.”

“She shut me out first,” John growled into the phone. “She has never once contacted me on her own since I’ve been back in England. She asked to turn our weekly dinners into monthly dinners and then never returned my texts, emails, and phone calls when I tried to schedule a dinner date with her.”

“So, what? You just stopped trying?”

“Yes.”

John heard Mary give an exasperated sigh over the phone.

“You brought this on yourself you know. You’re the one who chose your addiction to danger over your daughter.”

“I know,” John said sadly.

“You’re going to have to tell her you’re married.”

“I know. I will,” John said uncomfortably. “It’s just complicated right now.”

“Tell her soon. I cannot keep this from Mike and you know how horrible Mike is with secrets.”

John gave a weak chuckle.

“Mike would be a rubbish spy that’s for sure. What are you doing at my bedsit anyway?”

“Mike and I wanted to drop off your birthday present.”

“My birthday was weeks ago.”

Mary laughed. “I know. Mike felt horrible about it when he realized we forgot your birthday.”

“Is he with you?”

“He’s in the car talking to your parents on his mobile.”

“Oh god.”

“I’m sorry. You know how Mike is when he’s worried—”

“It’s fine. I just don’t know why he thought my parents would know anything about where I am or even care if I had gone missing.”

“They’d care if you were missing.”

John snorted.

“John—”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” John said cutting her off.

“Okay,” Mary murmured.

Mary obviously still felt guilty for “stealing” John’s parents after the divorce. Despite how John and Mary eventually managed to become something like friends, John’s parents never forgave him for breaking the orphan Mary’s heart and practically abandoning his daughter Abby.

John shook his head to try to erase thoughts about his estranged relationship with his parents.

“Shouldn’t you tell Mike that I’m not dead?” John asked with a slightly teasing tone.

“Nah, I’ll keep him in suspense. The excitement will be good for him. So tell me, does your husband have a name?”

John rolled his eyes. He should have expected Mary to want details.

“His name is Sh-William.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a musician.”

“You married a musician who could afford to buy you a house. He must be a pretty good musician. How did you meet?”

“He was my pen pal during my last three years in Afghanistan.”

“Oh my god, John Watson, when did your life turn into a romantic comedy?”

John snorted. “I know. The story is ridiculous.”

“So, why aren’t you two living together?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?”

John ran a hand through his hair. Even fifteen years after the divorce, Mary could still bully him into telling her more information than he wanted to give.

“William is not well, so it is in the best interest of the children that he stays in another residence for the time being.”

“Children?” Mary practically shouted into the phone.

John winced.

“William has a five-year-old son and a three-year-old daughter. It has been decided that I will be the stay-at-home parent.”

“You’re serious,” Mary said angrily.

“Yes,” John said with confusion. “Why are you angry?”

“Why am I angry?”

“Yes—”

“I’m angry because you spent almost all of Abigail’s life off playing soldier. You barely saw her twice a year—you missed everything. You missed her first steps, her first day of school, her first date, her graduation. John, you practically abandoned Abigail and now you come back from war and decide to become a stay-at-home dad for children that aren’t even yours. How is that going to make our daughter feel?”

“They are my children,” John seethed into the phone. “They may not be mine biologically but they are legally and in every other way that matters.”

“Okay, John. I’m sorry. You’re right they are your children, and I should not have implied otherwise,” Mary conceded. “But you have to understand how much this could hurt Abby. To see her step-siblings getting the relationship with you that she was denied—”

John was suddenly close to tears.

“I get it,” he breathed. “What you’re saying is true, but there is nothing I can do to fix it.”

John’s breath hitched as the tears began to fall.

“John,” Mary began soothingly. “I meant what I said about it upsetting Abby, but she’s a woman now. She’ll forgive you with time.”

“I know, I just—” John wiped his eyes. “I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could go back and change my choice to re-enlist. Fuck, even if I had just stopped volunteering for tours—”

Silence fell between the two ex-spouses.

There was nothing more to say.

“Well, it looks like Mike is done talking to your parents. I better go and tell him you’re alive now.”

“Okay.”

“Just so you know, as punishment for hiding your marriage from us, Mike and I reserve the right to use your birthday gift as your Christmas present.”

John gave a weak chuckle. “Fair enough.”

“Congratulations on your marriage, John. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” John replied before the call ended with softly uttered “goodbyes”.

Wiping his eyes one final time, John turned to enter the playroom again and almost tripped over Verona.

“Papa sad?” she asked tilting her head to the side.

The little girl was so cute it should have been illegal.

“Not anymore,” John said as he swept her up into his arms and kissed her cheek. “I can’t be sad when I’m with you sweetie.”

Verona smiled before hiding her face in John’s neck.

“Come on,” he told the little girl as they walked the short distance to the playroom. “Let’s fetch your brother so that we can go make dinner. I’m going to teach you how to make pizza today. How does that sound?”

 

ooo

 

“Bastian, stop it,” Abigail Watson giggled as her boyfriend drunkenly kissed her neck.

John Watson scowled at his daughter's boyfriend of two years.

The former army doctor hated Sebastian Moran for many reasons. The main reason being that he was his daughter’s live-in boyfriend, and therefore should be hated on principle. The second reason was that the man was twenty-eight and far too old for Abby in his opinion. The third reason was that—

Really, John just hated everything about Sebastian Moran.

Sebastian was a part-time DJ and full-time alcoholic. Since Sebastian was not a _paid_ DJ, John did not actually know what the man did in order to pay his half of the rent, but he had a sinking suspicion that the man did nothing at all and forced his daughter to foot the whole bill. John really could not see what his daughter saw in the man. Sure, objectively he was attractive. He was disgustingly tall with shoulder-length dark hair and green eyes. The bloke could probably get into modeling if he started shaving and showering on a regular basis. The tattoos and piercings would have to go too—or maybe they could Photoshop them out?

The grating voice of Sebastian interrupted John’s musings.

“So Doc, Abby said you told here there was an important reason why you had to hijack our date,” Sebastian said over the muffled beat of the club’s music that could still be faintly heard in the VIP lounge they were sitting in.

It was the night before John’s first meeting and outing with Sherlock Holmes, and once John and Sherlock were photographed together everything was going to change. Since it was a Friday night, Hamish and Verona had already been picked up by their grandparents a few hours earlier so that they could spend the weekend together. Therefore, it was the perfect time for John to tell his daughter about his marriage. He could not tell her that he was married to a rock star but he could at least tell her that he was married.

John narrowed his eyes at Sebastian and gritted his teeth.

It was in fact the younger man who had hijacked _his_ plans with his daughter, not the other way around. John arranged to meet with Abby to inform her of his marriage days ago after his conversation with Mary. John had taken care to wear his best oatmeal jumper that unseasonably cool late-summer night and had planned on taking his daughter to a nice restaurant. However, when he knocked on the door of his daughter’s London flat nobody answered. An hour of frantic texting later, and John finally learned that his daughter had completely forgotten about their dinner date after her “amazing boyfriend” had gotten them onto the guest list at the nightclub Seven Percent Solution—the most exclusive nightclub in London.

Somehow Sebastian had managed to convince whoever his connection at the nightclub was to add the name “John Watson” to the list and that was how John found himself sitting at a glass table dressed like the forty-five-year-old boring man he was surrounded by scantily clad beautiful people half his age. So far, the only thing he had enjoyed about the night was the look on all of the faces of the half-naked twenty-somethings waiting to get into the club when the bouncers had let him, the old man in the jumper, cut in line.

John took a sip of his scotch and finally addressed Sebastian.

“I did not ‘hijack your date’. You ‘hijacked’ my dinner with my daughter.”

Sebastian just smirked.

God, John hated the man.

“Dad, I’m sorry I forgot. It’s just this is Seven Percent Solution,” Abby said as she nervously played with the silver clutch that matched her relatively modest purple dress. “I’ve been wanting to come here for years and just got so excited—”

John smiled kindly at Abby.

“It’s fine, sweetheart.”

Abby gave him a relieved smile in return and took a small sip of her cocktail.

“So what did you want to talk to me about tonight?”

John fiddled with the unassuming platinum wedding band he was wearing. He took a deep breath and decided to just come out with it.

“I got married two months ago.”

Abby blinked at him. “You got married?”

“Yes.”

Sebastian slapped John on the back. “Congrats, Doc.”

John frowned at the hated nickname, and then met his daughter’s shocked gaze.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I haven’t told anyone actually. Well, anyone besides your mother, but she just found out on Tuesday.”

Abby looked slightly hurt, and it made John feel awful

“It’s okay,” Abby said weakly. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” John replied.

“So who’s the lucky lady?” Sebastian asked obnoxiously as he downed half of his drink.

“ _His_ name is William,” John snapped at the infuriating man.

His daughter’s eyes widened and John lamented that he could have “come out” with a bit more grace.

“Abby, you never told me your dad was a poof.”

His daughter punched her boyfriend’s arm.

“Ow!”

“Shut up, Bastian,” Abby demanded before giving her father the most supportive expression he had ever seen. “Oh Dad, I am so happy for you! All these years, I’ve always wondered why you and Mum split. Now, everything just makes sense. I’m proud of you for finally having the courage to come out as gay. I know how hard it was on Aunt Harry. Did seeing her struggle make you decide to—”

“I’m not gay!” John practically shouted, causing a few of other VIP guests to glance their way.

John cringed. He did not know why he overreacted like that. There was nothing wrong with being gay. He just felt uncomfortable about the conclusions that his daughter was drawing about the divorce and—

“Doc, you married a bloke,” Sebastian said interrupting John’s thoughts. “I’m pretty sure that makes you gay.”

John ignored Sebastian and addressed his confused daughter.

“I’m bisexual. I did not realize it until after the divorce,” he lied. “Things between your mother and I ended because I chose the army over the two of you. If I could go back and change that I would, but I can’t.”

Abby looked away from him for a second and then stared at the table.

“Where did you meet William?” she asked, changing the subject.

John was a little disheartened. He had not really expected Abby to say “I forgive you”, but for a brief moment he had hoped.  

“He was my pen pal during my last three years in Afghanistan. We did not meet in person until after I was discharged.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Abby said with a genuine smile.

Sebastian snorted. “I think it’s—” the younger man started before he was cut off by a commotion at the front of the VIP lounge. “Bloody hell, that’s Sherlock Holmes!”

It said a lot about Sherlock Holmes' fame that in a VIP lounge full of young starlets and minor royals, his entrance caused a scene. As John turned around and watched the husband he had not even met yet walk further into the room, ice filled his veins. This was not good. Surly, Mycroft had given Sherlock a picture of him or something. That just seemed like something the older Holmes would do—give his younger brother a file on his husband that included a picture.

What if Sherlock recognized him?

What if he didn’t recognize him? How would he explain that to Abby later?

John could not keep his eyes off of his young husband as he and an older gentleman with silver hair made their way over to a table solely occupied by a vaguely familiar brunette woman a few tables over from them.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it,” Abby breathed. “That’s Sherlock Holmes. We’re in the same room as Sherlock Holmes.”

“Babe, we’ve been in the same room as him before. We’ve gone to three of his concerts”

“Bastian, that’s not the same and you know it. That was a stadium. This is different. This is a room. A room with walls,” she said as she gazed starstruck at the twenty-six-year-old rock star.

Abby had no clue that the young man was her new stepfather, and that thought caused John to cringe.

John took a moment to study the husband he had yet to meet and noted that he looked like the epitome of a rock star with his artfully messy curls, lined eyes, and skintight leather pants.

The voice of his daughter startled John out of his thoughts.

“He’s sitting with Janine Hawkins.”

John blinked at the name as he remembered the Wikipedia article he had read months ago. That was Sherlock’s ex-girlfriend.

“The chick who was on the Disney Channel back when we were kids and dated Neville Longbottom before he got all buff?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes, her. And his name is Matthew Lewis not Neville Longbottom.”

“I don’t know why you know that,” Sebastian slurred before finishing Abby’s cocktail for her.

Abby ignored her boyfriend and turned to John.

“Dad, wasn’t Mum friends with Janine Hawkins’ mum back when you two got married? I think Mum said that she was a bridesmaid or something.”

John frowned.

Hawkins?

That name did sound familiar—

Oh, Sandra Hawkins.

Come to think of it, Janine Hawkins was the spitting image of her mother, and Mary had once mentioned that Sandra’s daughter had become an actress. John wondered how he did not make the connection sooner.

“Yes, her mother, Sandra, was your mother’s maid of honor, but they had a falling out soon after the wedding,” John said before sparing a glance at the brunette who was now scowling at Sherlock. “I actually think Janine was our flower girl. Or at least I think she’s the toddler who threw a tantrum about being forced to throw rose petals. It might have been my cousin Samantha’s kid—”

“No, it was definitely her. I think that I remember Mum telling me about that once when I was watching reruns of her old television show,” Abby gushed. “We have to go say ‘hi’.”

John paled.

This was definitely not good.

“Abby—”

“Dad, you know her. And she’s sitting with Sherlock Holmes—”

“I haven’t seen the girl since she was four.”

Abby gave John a pleading expression.

John squared his jaw and was about to stand his ground when the idiot boyfriend stood and started drunkenly striding towards the table where Janine, Sherlock, and the silver-haired man sat.

John saw the silver-hair man immediately stand and move to guard the table once he saw Sebastian approaching.

“Shite, he’s going to get himself arrested,” John groaned before standing and quickly making his way over to where Sebastian was arguing with the man who must be a bodyguard of some sort.

John vaguely registered his daughter following.

“My girlfriend’s dad knows her,” Sebastian slurred.

“Your ‘girlfriend’s dad’? Well, that’s a new one.”

John quickly made his way to Sebastian’s side and grabbed his arm to pull him back.

He ignored the squawk of indignation from the taller man and gave him a stern look before turning to the silver-haired man.

“I’m sorry about him,” John said. “He’s had too much to drink.”

The silver-haired man eyed John’s oatmeal jumper with amusement. The man was John’s age, but with his leather jacket, he fit right in with the younger patrons of the club.

“I take it you’re the ‘girlfriends’ dad’?”

“Guilty. However, in my defense, I have absolutely no say about who my daughter dates.”

The man snorted in amusement. “So you know Janine?” the man asked before glancing briefly at the confused actress.

“Not exactly. She was the flower girl at my wedding twenty-two years ago. I met her a total of three times when she was around four.”

The silver-haired man opened his mouth to speak when a deep baritone voice entered the conversation.

“I know you,” the voice said.

John looked over to the silver-haired man’s shoulder and saw Sherlock Holmes staring at him as he approached. His eyes were slightly glazed and his pupils were blown wide. The young man was obviously high.

“You know him?” the silver-haired man asked his client.

“Yes, he’s my husband,” Sherlock replied bluntly.

“Your what?” the silver-haired man shouted.

“I got married, and he’s my husband,” Sherlock shrugged ignoring the audience they were attracting. “It’s true. You can ask Mycroft, or Sally because she’s nosy and my parents tell her everything.”

“When the hell did you get married?”

The younger man waved a hand around in the air. “July-ish?”

“July—‘” the bodyguard said before he turned to a shell-shocked John. “Are you really married to this git?”

John looked around the VIP lounge. All eyes were on him and it was extremely unnerving. He suddenly realized that all the attention he was getting at that moment was about to become the norm once he answered that question. With one last glance at his confused daughter, he took a deep breath before turning to the bodyguard.

“Yes, I am.”

The room burst into murmurs and John could distinctly hear his daughter’s gasp. John could see quite a few people snapping photos of him and Sherlock with their phones.

John looked at Sherlock and spoke his first words to his husband.

“Your brother is going to be furious.”

“I know,” Sherlock replied with a smirk. “It’s going to better than Christmas.”

John did not have a chance to formulate a reply to that strange statement before Sherlock collapsed and started to seize.


	4. Chapter 4

During his long medical career, John had dealt with his fair share of seizures. However, the one that he had just seen his new husband go through was one of the worst he had ever witnessed. With a firm, “Get out of the way. I’m a doctor,” John skillfully looked after the dark-haired singer as he continued to overdose on drugs.

John paid no mind to the people around him even as some of the onlookers filmed the scene like the vultures they were. He vaguely registered the young Miss Hawkins calling an ambulance before she kneeled beside him to tearfully murmur soothing words to her friend. The silver-haired bodyguard’s presence, on the other hand, could not be ignored.

“Get the fuck out of here,” the slightly older man growled at the lingering crowd.

Security had come to help with the situation, but there were still a few stragglers. Sebastian and Abby were among them.

“My da—“

“Sweetheart, I don’t care. Get out of here. Take that lush of a boyfriend of yours with you,” the bodyguard ordered.

Abby did not listen and turned her eyes pleadingly to John.

“Dad, he seems stable. What if you make it worse? The paramedics should be here soon. We should go,” she said with panic in her voice.

John looked at his daughter sharply. Abby was just one of many who thought his little tremor made him incapable of saving people anymore—of even trying to save people anymore.

“Leave, Abby,” John ordered in a way that let his daughter know that he intended to stay.

She gave him a hurt look before moving to leave. She bit her lip and turned back to John.

“Are you really married to him? Is Sherlock Holmes really your husband?”

“Yes.”

“How is that—“

“Jesus Christ, Abigail. This is not the time.”

“But—“

“Just go!”

Sherlock groaned in pain and John started checking his vitals again. John focused on his patient instead of the sight of his daughter walking out of the lounge. He pushed his fear that she was also walking out of his life to the back of his mind. In that moment, all that mattered was the life that he was desperately trying to save.

 

ooo

 

It had been hours since John had ridden with Sherlock to the hospital, and he still did not know how the younger man was. After an argument and some blatant threats from both parties, the bodyguard had begrudgingly allowed John to ride in the ambulance with his new husband. However, once the silver-haired man had arrived at the hospital along with Miss Hawkins, John had been given the cold shoulder. Miss Hawkins was too busy silently weeping while the bodyguard was growling into his phone demanding that someone, “Forget about the Americans and get on a plane back to England”. Apparently, whoever the slightly older man was calling was not picking up their phone. John had a feeling it was Mycroft Holmes.

John wandered away from the waiting room once a hysterical young woman with mousy brown hair and an elderly woman in lilac arrived and started making a scene as they loudly cried with Miss Hawkins. The other people in the waiting room were staring at their little corner with a mixture of annoyance and pity. Not being able to stand the stares, John left and made his way through the familiar halls of St. Bart’s.

He stuck to the areas where visitors were allowed, not wanting to deal with security in his current frame of mind. After mindlessly walking to a vending machine and impulsively buying a candy bar that he gave away to a confused orderly, John decided to call his in-laws.

Mrs. Holmes answered, and the phone call was worse than John had anticipated. Mr. Holmes had to take over. When he did, he explained that the bodyguard, Greg, had already called the personal mobile that he kept for Sherlock-related emergencies.

“It’s just best if Violet is kept out of these things until Sherlock—“ The elderly man sighed wearily. “Until we know he’s going to survive. It’s the not knowing that really kills her. She’s brilliant, but that mind of her’s, the mind she gave to both our boys, is both a blessing and a curse. It just starts to tear itself apart at times like these.”

John sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I had no idea—“

“No, son. It’s not your fault. I should have given you my special number ages ago. Old age makes the memory start to go—I’m always forgetting things. However, I’m surprised Mycroft never gave...” the man trailed off before he took a deep breath. “Anyway, don’t worry about the children. We’ll take care of them for as long as you need. Just focus on taking care of my boy.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“I know you will.”

The call ended after Mr. Holmes gave John his “emergency mobile” number and the older man explained that he and his wife would visit Sherlock once he was stable and transferred to a rehab facility. John got the distinct feeling that the former accountant was far too used to having his younger son overdose on drugs. However, despite that fact, the older man was clearly still extremely worried. John’s experience with his father and sister’s alcoholism meant he understood firsthand that something like that would never stop causing one’s heart to seize with worry.

After the phone call ended, John wandered around the halls until he was only a few steps away from the waiting room. Still not wanting to go back to the crowded area, he found a place in the hall that he thought was out of away enough to not cause any problems for the hospital staff.

Situated on the floor beside a broken drinking fountain, John leaned his head against the wall and stared at the cracked ceiling.

The sounds and smells of the hospital brought back memories of medical school, late nights on call, successful surgeries, and lost lives. The thought of lost lives brought him back to Afghanistan. The smell of antiseptic became the smell of sweat and sand. The harsh florescent lights morphed into an unforgiving sun—

John closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.

Several minutes passed where he just focused on his breathing.

“Mr. Watson-Holmes?” a female voice asked.

John did not even register it as his thoughts continued to run in circles.

“Mr. Watson-Holmes?”

A hand touched his shoulder, and John found himself harshly grabbing a small wrist. He lifted his head to look into the eyes of his would-be assailant and found himself staring into the wide blue eyes of Dr. Sarah Sawyer.

“John? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

“Sarah?” John looked down at the frail wrist in his hand and quickly dropped it. “Oh god, I am so sorry. I—“

Sarah moved her clipboard so that it was secured under her left arm and awkwardly rubbed her right wrist. “It’s fine, John. I should have known better—“

“No,” John sighed and slowly stood. “It was my fault. I was—“

“John, it’s totally fine.”

The former army doctor opened his mouth to protest, but decided to just let it go. He had more important things to worry about.

“Sarah, do you know how a patient named—“

The brunette gave him a regretful look as she cut him off. “I’m sorry, but I have to find a patient’s husband right now. Afterwards, I promise that I will help you in any way that I can.”

“Is that patient a Sher...um...a William Watson-Holmes?” John asked as they both stood.

Sarah tilted her head. “Yes. Do you know where his husband is?”

“He’s right here.” At his ex-girlfriend’s confused look, John rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh...what I mean is...um...I’m his husband.”

Sarah’s mouth opened in shock for a moment before John visibly saw her switch to the professional mindset that she needed to adhere to when conversing with the loved ones of her patients. John could not help but admire her as she closed her mouth and squared her shoulders. He knew that there would be questions later, but he was grateful for the reprieve.

“In that case, there are a few things that we need to discuss about your husband’s condition.”

 

ooo

 

The morning after Sherlock’s overdose, John sat at the stranger’s bedside and studied his still form as the sound of beeping machines filled the hospital room with an unwanted melody.

He looked so young lying there—so much like Hamish. It was the resemblance to his son that had heightened John’s protective instincts while he had taken care of the young man in the club the night before. When the bodyguard had tried to be the one to accompany Sherlock in the ambulance, John had been seconds away from punching the man.    

The former soldier slouched in his chair and rubbed his eyes. The young man before him was killing himself. He was just a kid and—

Okay, he wasn’t exactly a “kid”, but he sure did look like one when he was unconscious. With his unhealthily thin frame, delicate features offset by sharp cheekbones, and a head of mussed curls, he could have easily passed for nineteen.

John stood and began to check the monitors for the umpteenth time. Once he was satisfied that they were all in working order and that the readings were as normal as one could get with a cocaine overdose, he moved to adjust the young man’s blanket. Sparing just a glance at the track marks littering the singer’s exposed arm, John carefully tucked him in like a child. He smoothed back the dark curls that were identical to Hamish’s and he took a moment to study the peaceful face up-close. For a second, John forgot who he was tucking in. The similar faces of his son and husband blurred together in his exhaustion, and he found himself placing a soft kiss on Sherlock’s feverish forehead. Before he could even begin to chastise himself for his unconscious action, the sound of a throat being cleared startled him.

He turned to see Sherlock’s glowering bodyguard standing in the doorway.

“Are you in the habit of molesting unconscious men?” he asked, clearly still bitter about the fact that John had been the only one permitted to stay in the hospital room overnight.

John balled his fists and prepared for a fight be it verbal or physical—he wasn’t picky. He was tired, angry, and worried sick about a stranger. With the added confusion about his abnormally high concern for said stranger, John found himself hoping that the bodyguard would decide to go the physical route. He knew it was beyond unhealthy, but he had a feeling that taking and giving a few punches would clear his head—would make the world make sense again.   

“Greg, leave him alone,” a female voice chastised meekly.

John’s eyes snapped to a young woman who was half-hidden behind the bodyguard. He recognized her as the hysterical young woman with mousy brown hair from the night before. She gave John a shaky smile that he guessed was supposed to be reassuring but just looked forced.

The bodyguard, Greg, looked down at the petite woman with a frown. “He was—“

“He was comforting his husband,” she said as she and her companion made their way into the room.

Greg stopped walking and crossed his arms. “Molly, we don’t know if this bloke is really—“

The petite woman, Molly, mimicked Greg’s stance and suddenly looked nothing like the meek woman she had appeared just moments before.

“Mycroft confirmed it. This man is Sherlock’s husband, and you will just have to get over that.”

“Mycroft? When did you talk to Mycroft?”

“He called me ten minutes ago.”

“He called _you_? I left him fifty bloody messages and he called _you_? You only called him once.”

“Yes,” she said with the tiniest of smirks before her eyes drifted to the unconscious Sherlock and her face fell. “Umm...actually, I called Anthea and she told him to call me.”

“Fucking unbelievable,” Greg muttered. “So, he’s on his way?”

“He’ll be here by tomorrow.”

“Good,” Greg said with a satisfied nod before turning sharp brown eyes on John. “So, _husband_ , you got a name?”

John moved away from the bed and leisurely approached the pair. Greg seemed to be a bit put out by his refusal to be intimidated by him. Once, he was before the two strangers he completely ignored the taller man and smiled at the woman who went by Molly.

He offered her his hand. “Hello, I’m John Watson-Holmes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The woman blinked before taking his hand. Her grip was stronger than John expected.

“I’m Molly Hooper. It’s pleasure to meet you too. Umm...you can just call me Molly if you want.”

John let go of her hand and allowed his smile to widen a fraction despite his exhaustion and worry.

“In that case, Molly, you can call me John.”

“Umm...okay,” Molly said awkwardly before her eyes drifted to Sherlock again.

“You can go sit by him if you want,” he said with a gesture at his abandoned chair.

With a grateful smile and a softly muttered “Thanks”, Molly left and John found himself facing off with an overprotective bodyguard—if there could be such a thing.

There was a brief staring contest until the taller man spoke.

“So, _John_ ,” he sneered. “Who the fuck are you? How the hell did you marry Sherlock without me knowing? Without anyone knowing—“

John crossed his arms defensively. “Sherlock’s family knows. Did you even bother to ask about me when you called Mr. Holmes’ emergency mobile?“

The older man’s brown eyes narrowed. “How did you know about—“

“Mr. Holmes, my _father-in-law_ , told me when I called him.”

Greg looked stunned and John smirked.

“So, this is real. Sherlock went and got married behind my back,” the older man breathed. “How did I miss this?”

“I don’t know,” John shrugged. “Probably the same way you missed him shooting up enough cocaine to—“

John’s cruel remark was cut short by a punch to the jaw. He did not think twice before punching back and the two ended up brawling in the hospital hallway until security came to break them up. John regretted nothing. With the violence came clarity, and for a few moments everything in his world made sense again.

It was only through Sarah’s intervention that both John and Greg avoided arrest. However, they were temporarily banished from Sherlock’s room while Molly, Miss Hawkins, and the elderly woman from the night before visited the unconscious singer.

Miss Hawkins and the elderly woman threw John curious looks, however there was no time for formal introductions as Sarah marched him and Greg to an empty examination room to be treated.

Despite the thousands of questions that John could see in her eyes, Sarah thankfully stayed professional. She cleaned up Greg’s split lip and set his broken nose, before moving on to John’s matching split lip and swollen eye. The brunette doctor was paged before John could properly express his gratitude, and he resolved to take her out to lunch once everything in his life had calmed down a bit.

As they left the abandoned room, John turned to his husband’s bodyguard.

“Look, I’m—“ He let out a loud sigh as they both stopped outside of the examination room door. “I’m sorry about...uh...that last comment. It was uncalled for. I deserved that punch.”

The older man studied him for a moment before snorting. “You wanted that punch.”

“I—“

“Don’t try to lie about it,” he said with an amused shake of his head. “You and Sherlock are perfect for each other. You’re both insane.”

John did not know what to say to that.

They both made their way to one of the hospital’s takeaway coffee shops in silent agreement. With a black coffee and an Earl Grey tea purchased, they made their way outside. Leaning against the side of the building, they both sipped their drinks and eyed each other distrustfully for a good half-hour.

“This tea tastes like piss,” John finally commented in an attempt to end the staring contest the other man seemed intent on having.

“How old are you?”

John blinked at the non sequitur but answered the question. “Forty-five.”

The other man started to choke on his coffee.

“Forty-five?” he asked angrily. “I knew you were older but...forty-five? You’re a fucking cradle robber. You could be his bloody father.”

As the bodyguard began to rant about how he “should’ve realized” because of the age of John’s daughter, John pushed down his sudden shame and urge to apologize. It wasn’t like it was his idea to marry the significantly younger man.

“Right,” John said before downing the last of his crap tea and throwing it in a nearby rubbish bin. “We’re done here.”

John turned on his heal and began to walk away.

“Wait—“ the other man said as he grabbed John’s arm.

In the blink of an eye, John had knocked the coffee out of the other man’s hand and had him pinned against the wall.

“Don’t touch me,” he growled up at the taller man.

Startled brown eyes met blazing blue and the bodyguard nodded. Satisfied, John let go of the other man and stood before him in a military-fashion before he caught himself and forced himself to relax.

“Military?”

“RAMC. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers,” John answered automatically.

The other man gave him an impressed look that quickly morphed into one of bewilderment.

“An army doctor? How the hell did Sherlock end up married to an army doctor?” the bodyguard muttered to himself before meeting John’s eyes once again. “How did you meet Sherlock?”

“Army pen pal program,” John lied.

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

“How—“

John gave a weary sigh. “I really don’t feel like going over this right now. If you want answers, ask Mycroft Holmes. He knows the story.”

“Mycroft?”

“Yeah. He’s the one who is handling the statement to the press regarding the marriage.”

The taller man winced. “The press is going to be brutal. The videos of you saving Sherlock at the club might help things a bit, despite how awful it is that they were posted online. However, the age difference—it’s not going to look good.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

The other man suddenly looked uncomfortable and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Thanks for...uh...saving Sherlock. I don’t—I don’t really like this at all, but despite being only two years younger than me...you seem like a decent enough bloke. Well, the whole ‘wanting a punch in the face’ thing is a bit weird...”

John huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Is that related to PTSD?” the other man asked before grimacing at John’s quelling look. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Anyway, what I am trying to say is that I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of an arse. It’s just...I’ve been Sherlock’s primary bodyguard for five years now and he’s become like a son to me. An extremely rebellious, spoiled, and manipulative son but still...“

John studied the other man for the first time and noticed the dark circles under his eyes and day-old clothes. Sherlock’s overdose was clearly hitting the other man hard.

“I understand,” John assured the worried bodyguard.

The other man put his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, and briefly studied John again before meeting his eyes. “So, you’re gonna help me look after him now?”

“Yes,” John said without hesitation, surprising himself that it was true—he was going to do his best to help the self-destructive young man who looked so much like his son it hurt.

“Good, because I need all the help I can get. You can call me Greg by the way,” he said as he held out his hand to John.

John shook the hand firmly.

 

ooo

 

John avoided his young husband’s hospital room until the other visitors besides Greg had left. He was not in the mood for more awkward introductions and questions about his marriage. Instead, he kipped in the emergency room waiting area for three hours. He was used to sleeping in loud places and knew that he would not be noticed in the busy area as long as he slept while sitting up and did not stay too long. Therefore, he had no qualms about doing something that could potentially cause him to have another run-in with hospital security that day.

He ran into Greg on his way back to Sherlock’s private hospital room and saw him talking to four intimidating men in suits.

“Hey, John,” Greg said with a hint of awkwardness as he adjusted the splint on his nose.

The two men had a tentative truce with a common goal, but they were not going to be friends anytime soon.

“Hi,” John replied with a questioning look between Greg and the four unknown men.

Greg quickly answered John’s silent question. “The fact that Sherlock is staying at this hospital was leaked, so Mycroft has provided extra security. Truthfully, I’m surprised he waited this long. I know that Sherlock hates security, but at times like these, a few underpaid hospital security guards isn’t going to be enough. He’s too vulnerable you know?”

As John eyed the guards, he found himself wondering what exactly Mycroft Holmes did in the British Government. The bodyguards he had provided looked like they worked for MI5.

“Uh...yeah,” John said after forcing his mind away from thoughts of the mysterious Mycroft Holmes. He shifted his feet awkwardly before motioning to the shut door. “I’m just going to head in.”

Greg nodded and turned back to the suit-clad bodyguards.

John entered the dimly lit room and was shocked to find Sherlock awake.

The young man was lying in a fetal position and shivering, but it was the best John could have expected.

John sat down in the chair by the bed and instantly regretted it. The chair’s close proximity to his husband was uncomfortably apparent when the younger man was conscious. John subtly moved the chair back a few centimeters.

“How are you f—“

“You have a black eye,” Sherlock rasped before licking his cracked lips. “So, Lestrade decided to defend my honor?”

“Who?”

“Gavin.”

“Gavin?”

The man rolled his eyes and pulled the hospital blanket tighter around his shivering body.

“Grey hair, divorced, addicted to _EastEnders_ , has two daughters I’m not allowed to meet for stupid reasons—“

“Sorry, I still don’t know who—“

Sherlock clenched his teeth as his thin frame gave a full-body shudder.

“Are you okay?” John asked as he leaned forward.

The younger man clumsily moved away from him and glared through his sweaty curls.

“I’d be better if you would stop being an idiot and realize that I’m talking about my bodyguard,” Sherlock growled through tightly clenched teeth.

John was unfazed by his young husband’s attitude. John had experience dealing with irritable patients going through detox. Furthermore, the former soldier had mentally prepared himself to deal with the infamously volatile moods of The Masterminds frontman. He took a moment to look Sherlock over from his position in his chair. The younger man seemed to be fairing relatively well. Secure in the fact that the younger man was as fine and did not need a more thorough examination, John relaxed.

“You mean Greg?”

“Who?” Sherlock asked petulantly.

“Greg—your bodyguard.”

“That’s his name? Greg?” the younger man scoffed. “What a stupid name. He might as well be named Rupert.”

“Rupert?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied as he slowly began to sit up.

John moved to help him. “Here, let me—“

“Don’t,” the younger man snapped.

John ignored his husband and helped him sit up. He frowned when the blanket slipped and he noticed that the younger man had disconnected his IV. 

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” he asserted with a pointed look at the offending arm. “You could have hurt yourself.”

“Please,” Sherlock crossed his arms and gave John a challenging look. “We both know that I have more than enough experience with needles. Taking out a simple IV is—“

John gave a bitter laugh.

“Are you seriously implying that being a junkie is the equivalent of having proper medical training?”

“I am not a junkie,” Sherlock seethed. “I’m a high-functioning—“

“A ‘high-functioning addict’?” John scoffed. He was too tired to filter his thoughts about his husband’s self-destructive behavior. “There is nothing ‘high-functioning’ about what you’re doing. You’re just a junkie with a chip on your shoulder because you somehow managed to cheat death a few times.”

John immediately regretted his harsh words when he saw hurt flash in Sherlock’s eyes.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry. I just—“

“Get out.”

“Sherlock—“

“Get the fuck out!” Sherlock shouted before he lay down, turned away from John, and pulled the blanket over his head.

John hesitated before obeying the command. He’d bollixed up his first real meeting with his husband and there was nothing he could do but give the younger man an hour to cool off. With a regretful sigh, he left the room.


	5. Chapter 5

John stalked through the halls of St. Bart’s with only one thought on his mind—he was a shite husband.

It was true when he was married to the love of his life and it was true when he was married to a stranger. Why did he have to call his husband a “junkie”? What a wonderful way to start a relationship.

A relationship.

What kind of relationship was he going to have with the younger man?

It certainly wasn’t going to be a romantic or physical one. Despite Mycroft Holmes’ insistence that John was bisexual, that just wasn’t true. He liked women. He was not attracted to men...usually. Sure, there had been the occasional stray thought, but that was normal. Wasn’t it?

John frowned before stubbornly forcing his mind away from that train of thought. He did not have time for a sexual identity crisis. Instead, he thought about Mycroft Holmes and his insane idea that John was going to “inspire Sherlock to get clean” and to start acting like a father—all because of his “contradictions”.

What contradictions?

In John’s opinion, he was a very simple man.

Also, why did Sherlock have to be _married_ to get the help he needed? After two months of contemplation, John was now certain that Mycroft Holmes had the means to do anything he wanted. If he wanted his junkie brother to have legal custody of his children, he could find a way to make that happen that did not involve marriage. If he wanted his brother to stay clean, he could get more bodyguards to follow him around or something. Also, John truly doubted that Sherlock would ever take an interest in his children even if someone attempted to “inspire” him to do so. In short, there was no reason why Sherlock needed to be married.

Therefore, there was no reason why Mycroft Holmes would insist on John marrying his younger brother unless—

John gritted his teeth.

The enigmatic man was obviously trying to play matchmaker. The doctor had made peace with that fact weeks after he was blindsided with the forged marriage license. Well, it was too bad for Mycroft Holmes, because his ludicrous scheme was not going to work.

John would attempt to help the singer get clean and bond with his children, but the marriage would never become real. He was incapable of offering that, and he doubted the younger man would want that anyway. No handsome young celebrity would ever want anything to do with a greying broken soldier.

John again contemplated what kind of relationship was he supposed to have with the younger man. He hoped for friendship, but at the moment, he doubted that he would achieve it. The man he would be married to for the next fifteen years hated him.

He needed a good plan—a way to make Sherlock see that he was truly sorry. Unfortunately, John did not have a good plan. So, in lieu of one, he was forced to resort to buying something at the hospital gift shop. Resigned to his impeding failed apology, John entered the gift shop.

 

ooo

 

John stared at the closed hospital room door and took a deep breath. He ignored the judgmental looks from Greg and the suit-clad bodyguards and clutched the cuddly toy in his hand tighter. He looked at the pitiful gift he had spent over an hour selecting and was filled with self-loathing.

He really was a shite husband.

Taking another moment to ready himself for the impending disaster, he opened the door.

He found Sherlock still in the same position that he had left him in and for a moment he thought the younger man was asleep.

“Get out,” Sherlock growled from under his blanket.

“Sherlock—“

“Piss off.”

John licked his lips. “I brought you something to...uh...apologize.”

Sherlock shifted under his blanket but said nothing.

The blond took that as a good sign.

“It’s...it’s sort of a dumb gift but...it’s the thought that counts, right?” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I...well, the thought I am going for is, ‘I’m sorry I was a git’.”

The man under the blanket snorted. “’Was’? You are currently trying to bribe me into forgiving you for slander. Your status as a git is anything but past tense.”

John blinked.

Slander?

The younger man was in serious denial. However, John’s comments had been rather cruel.

“I deserved that.”

John moved towards the chair and saw Sherlock flinch under the blanket at the sound of his approach. He sat down and nervously played with the soft toy in his hands.

“You’re not going to leave until I accept whatever cheap item you purchased at the hospital gift shop, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

Sherlock heaved an annoyed sigh before emerging from under his blanket and turning to face John. He stayed lying on his side and kept the blanket pulled tightly around his shivering shoulders. When he saw what John was holding, his eyes narrowed.

“You bought me a cuddly toy?”

John blushed. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“It reminded me of you.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed further. “It’s an _otter_.”

“Yes,” John said as his blush deepened.

“How does a soft toy otter remind you of me?”

“Umm...well, I don’t know actually. It just does.”

Sherlock thrust a hand out of his blanket in a silent demand for the toy, and John clumsily handed it to him. The younger man sat up a bit to examine the toy as if trying to figure out why John had associated an otter with him. After five minutes where John uneasily sat in his chair and Sherlock methodically examined the cuddly toy, Sherlock locked eyes with John.

“This looks nothing like me,” the younger man huffed. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, probably.”

John’s answer seemed to mollify the singer.

“At least you acknowledge it. Most idiots are hopelessly in denial.”

John raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock was in no position to talk about denial.

Thankfully, the other man was too busy reexamining the otter to notice John’s judgmental expression. John watched as the singer pouted at the otter and brought its plastic nose to his own and appeared to engage the unseeing toy in a staring contest. It was ridiculously cute.

Sherlock put down the toy, looked over at John, and frowned. “You’re smiling,” he said with confusion.

The doctor was surprised to find that it was true.

“Yes, I guess I am.”

“Why?”

“You’re amusing.”

Sherlock gaped. “But, I called you an ‘idiot’.”

“And I agreed with you,” John shrugged. “Plus, I think what I called you earlier was far worse.”

Sherlock’s eyes began to rapidly flick over John as if trying to examine every inch of him. After a minute, he seemed to grow frustrated.

“I can’t do it!”

“Do what?”

“Deduce you. Right now, my mind is too...” he waved a hand around in the air and seemed to be struggling to find the right word to express himself. He gave up and shook his head of sweaty curls. “I can’t think!”

John was about to ask what exactly he meant by “deduce” when his mobile rang. The sound of “Nitrogen” by The Masterminds filled the hospital room, and John found himself blushing again. Sherlock gave him an incredulous look, and John hastened to answer his phone just to make the music stop.

“Hello?”

“Dad, it’s me,” Abby said. “Umm...we need to talk.”  

John immediately stood and rubbed the back of his neck.

He was not ready for this conversation.

“Uh, yeah,” he said as he sent an apologetic look to Sherlock. He always felt bad about answering his mobile when in the middle of a conversation. “But, I don’t think this is a conversation we should have over the phone.”

“We can meet at the coffee shop by my flat. The one we went to when you first came back to England.”

John hesitated. “Abby, I really can’t right now—“

Before John could explain that he was still at the hospital, Abby cut him off.

“Fine,” she said coldly. “We don’t have to talk. It’s not like we’ve talked about anything important before. It’s not like you were ever here to talk when I needed you. It’s not like you—“

“I’ll be there,” John breathed as his eyes began to sting with tears of shame. “Just give me twenty minutes.”

“Fine,” Abby snapped before hanging up.

John willed his tears away and turned to face his new husband.

“That was my daughter. This whole marriage took her by surprise, and I need to go meet with her to talk about it in person. I shouldn’t be gone more than—“

The younger man rolled his eyes. “You were supposed to leave once I accepted your idiotic gift. I don’t want you sitting at my bedside like an imbecile.”

John laughed despite his worry about meeting with his daughter.

For some reason, he found Sherlock’s acerbic way of speaking amusing. He always did have a weird sense of humor.

The younger man stared wide-eyed as John’s chuckles died down. “John Watson...you make no sense.”

“It’s John Watson-Holmes now, remember?” he replied with a smirk. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours whether you like it or not.”

With that, John exited the room, leaving a very confused husband in his wake.

 

ooo

 

John was ten minutes late by the time he finished paying the cabbie and entered the trendy coffee shop. Not even sparing a glance at the front counter, he searched the tables for his daughter. He found her sitting alone at a table in the back. On the wall behind his daughter, there was a strange piece of modern art depicting what John guessed were flowers but looked more like amoebas. The air smelled of a suffocating mixture of incense and coffee and the instrumental music playing reminded John of the folk music he had heard while in Afghanistan.

Abby did not notice his approach as she stared at the paper cup in her hands. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail and she was wearing a worn black t-shirt with the name of Sherlock’s band across the chest. It was a t-shirt that John had seen many times since his return to England, so he could not be sure if his daughter had chosen it to make a point or if it’s selection was merely due to habit.

The former soldier had never been more scared in his life as he finally arrived at his daughter’s table. Abby looked up and the hurt in her blue eyes made his throat close up.

John did his best to swallow the lump in his throat before speaking. “Is it okay if I sit here?” he asked. He internally cringed at his stupid question.

“Yeah. I invited you so...” Abby said as she returned her gaze to her cup.

John took the chair across from his daughter and found himself nervously fiddling with his wedding band.

When Abby looked away from her cup, she caught the action and immediately frowned. She looked up to meet John’s gaze. She seemed to notice his black eye and split lip but did not comment on them. Instead, she got to the point of their meeting. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you married Sherlock Holmes? You told me you married someone named ‘William’,” she accused.

“His name is ‘William’,” John justified weakly. “William Sherlock—“

“Scott Holmes,” the longtime Sherlock fan finished with a shake of her head. “I can’t believe I forgot that.”

“Actually...uh...it’s Watson-Holmes,” John corrected.

“Watson-Holmes?”

“Uh...yeah. We decided to hyphenate,” John lied. “His name is William Sherlock Scott Watson-Holmes now.”

There was a moment of tense silence before something in Abby appeared to crack.

“This is a nightmare,” she breathed, looking close to tears.

“Abby—“                                                              

“Why did you do this to me? I know you hate me but—“

“I don’t hate you—“

John’s daughter started to laugh bitterly. “Really? Is that why you chose getting shot at over me?”

“That’s not—“

“Then, you finally come back to England and you marry the man I’ve been in love with for years. Sherlock Holmes is now my _stepfather_ , because you went and stole him.”

John blinked at his hysterical daughter. “How can you be in love with him? You’ve never even met—“

“That’s beside the point. You knew I liked him and you—“

“Abigail, you’re being unreasonable.”

“I’m being unreasonable? You went off and married Sherlock and you think I’m being unreasonable?”

“You are,” John said angrily. “My husband is in the hospital and you drag me out to this coffee shop and start acting like I stole your bloody boyfriend. Last thing I knew, you were dating that bastard Moran not Sherlock.”

Abby paled. “He’s still in the hospital?”

“Of course. Where did you think I—“

“How could you leave him in the hospital alone?” she asked horrified.

John sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he breathed.

“You don’t deserve him. You’re an awful husband,” Abby hissed. “No wonder Mum left you.”

John watched numbly as his daughter grabbed her drink and stormed out of the coffee shop, her last words playing on repeat in his mind. Despite how unreasonable Abby was being, she was right about one thing—John did not deserve Sherlock.

He did not deserve anybody. He was a horrible husband and an even worse father.

John ignored the curious glances from the few fellow patrons who had bothered to listen to his argument with his daughter and put his head in his hands. He took a few moments to steady his breathing and will his tears away before giving up and sobbing in the middle of the coffee shop. He kept his face in his hands and his sobs muffled, but his posture and the tell-tale shaking of his shoulders let everyone in the vicinity know exactly what he was doing.

Eventually, his sobs died down and his breathing settled. However, the ache in his chest did not leave.

“Sir, are you alright?” a male voice asked tentatively.

John wiped his eyes with his hands, wincing when he pressed too hard on his injured eye. He knew that his face was a mess, but when he looked up at the young barista he saw nothing but compassion in the other man’s eyes.

John cleared his throat. “I’m...uh...I’m fine.”

The barista handed him a handkerchief monogramed with the initials “H.K.”. 

At John’s baffled look at the outdated item, the young man explained. “My gran makes them...”

“Thank you,” John said before using the handkerchief.

“You can keep that one,” the barista offered before John could return the now soiled piece of cloth. “I have loads.”

John nodded and stuffed the handkerchief into his trouser pocket. He sniffed and cleared his throat, but before he could thank the barista for the handkerchief, the young man spoke again.

“I made you some tea,” he said as he made the short trip to the neighboring table where there were two large paper cups. He grabbed both and set one in front of John. He shifted his feet nervously. “It’s English breakfast. I didn’t add any milk or sugar because I didn’t know what you liked and you could be lactose intolerant or diabetic or...I’m rambling aren’t I? Anyway, the tea is free. You don’t have to pay for it.”

“Thank you.” The doctor gave the barista a weak smile before taking a sip of the much needed tea. He glanced at the cup the young man was still holding. “Do you want to sit down?” John asked despite his desire to be alone. To not do so after the other man had been so kind would have weighed on John’s conscience.

“Just for a bit,” the barista said as he sat down in the chair Abby had vacated over a half-hour before. “I’m on break so...”

The two sat in silence.

John spoke first, needing something to distract him from thoughts of his disastrous meeting with his daughter.

“I’m John.”

“Henry,” the young man replied. “Though, you probably already knew that because of the nametag.”

Actually, the former soldier had failed to notice the garish nametag on Henry’s apron. He took a moment to scrutinize the small rectangle bejeweled with fake gems. It looked like something a child would make in art class at nursery school. How had he not noticed that monstrosity?

“Ugly ain’t it?” Henry said with a self-depreciative grin. “They’re all like this, but I swear mine’s the worst of the lot. The owner makes them herself. I think she took extra care to make mine hideous. She doesn’t like me very much.”

“Why?”

The younger man shrugged. “I’m a musician and she doesn’t like musicians on principle. During my interview, I made the mistake of mentioning that the reason I moved back to London was to try to get into the music business and I swear the woman looked ready to kick me out. Then, she went on a rant about her ex-husband who was a musician and what a ‘lazy bastard’ he was. Once the interview was over, I could not get out of there fast enough. She only hired me because she was desperate and hasn’t fired me yet because I’m her only experienced barista.”

“What do you play?”

“Sorry?”

“You said you were a musician. What do you play?”

The younger man looked embarrassed. “Guitar. I also sing a bit, but I’m not very good.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“You and my gran are the only two people who think that,” Henry said with a wry twitch of his lips. “And you’ve never heard me sing and my gran’s stone deaf.”

John huffed out a laugh. “Point taken.”

There was a long moment of silence while they sipped their drinks before Henry broke it.

Henry looked nervously at John. “Do you want to talk about it?”

It took John a second to understand what Henry was referring to. When he did, all of the pain from the conversation with his daughter came back.

He took a long sip of his tea before answering. “Not really. No.”

“Okay," Henry said before letting silence fall again.

John thought that was the end of the conversation, but after a couple of minutes, Henry spoke.

“I know Abby,” the barista said abruptly. “We went to primary school together for a bit before I moved to Dartmoor. That’s in Devon...”

“You did?” John asked, taken aback.

“Yes. I don’t think she remembers me though. She comes in here at least a couple times a week and she’s never said anything. I’m too shy to mention it and...we weren't close in school anyway. I was always the weird kid with the big ears and Abby...” Henry smiled softly. “She’s always been a goddess.”

John choked on his tea and Henry began to blush.

“I’m sorry,” the brown-haired young man apologized. He looked absolutely horrified. “I shouldn’t have said that...”

John coughed to hide his laughter before smirking at the besotted young man. “No, it’s alright.”

The younger man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You’re her dad right? I recognize you from the pictures.”

“Pictures?”

“Yeah. Abby used to show off pictures of you in uniform all the time. Everyone was really jealous that her dad was a doctor _and_ a soldier. She once showed us this one picture where you were riding a camel and...well, all us ten-year-olds were very impressed.”

The doctor found himself fighting back a new wave of tears.

“Shite, I’ve made things worse, haven’t I?” Henry asked worriedly.

“No,” John took a deep breath. “It’s fine.” He looked at the younger man and something about him just made the former soldier want to confide in him. “I’d like to talk about it now, if that’s alright?”

The younger man picked at the lid of his paper cup. “Sure.”

John ran a hand through his hair. “How much did you hear?”

“Uh...nothing really. The music covered most of it, but it was obvious that you were both upset with each other and then—well, she stormed away and you...” he trailed off.

“Fell to pieces?”

“Yeah.”

John took a sip of tea and took a moment to focus on the feeling of the lukewarm liquid sliding down his throat. He put the cup down and began to fiddle with his wedding band again. The gesture was becoming a habit.

“Over the years, I haven’t been the best father,” John began. “I chose the army over my family and my relationship with Abby paid the price. Recently, I’ve returned to England and have been trying to repair my relationship with her, but it’s too late.”

“I’m sure it’s not—“

“No,” John took a shaky breath. “Whatever chance I had to fix things with her was ruined two months ago.”

“What happened two months ago?”

“I got married.”

“She doesn’t like your new wife?”

“Husband,” John corrected.

“Oh, sorry—“

He waved off the apology. “It’s alright.”

“So she doesn’t like your husband then?”

“No. She likes him just fine.”

“Then why—“

“She fancies herself in love with him.”

Henry’s mouth dropped open in shock.

John snorted at his gobsmaked expression. “In my defense, Abby has never actually met my husband. She’s in love with the idea of him. If she met him, she’d realize he’s a git most of the time.”

It was obvious that the Henry had no idea what to say about the strange situation John was in. However, that didn’t matter to the former soldier. It just felt good to sit with someone who seemed to care.  

The last ten minutes of the young barista’s break were spent in a strangely comfortable silence.

After the younger man left the table with a heartfelt “Good luck”, John stood and made his way outside. The weather was warmer than it had been the night before, and John looked down at his oatmeal jumper with distaste. He desperately wanted to change; however, stopping at his home on Baker Street was not an option. He had already wasted too much time away from Sherlock and he needed to get back to the ill man.

He hailed a cab and headed to St. Bart’s.

 

ooo

 

When John arrived at Sherlock’s hospital room, Greg and the suit-clad bodyguards were gone. His husband was also nowhere in sight. John was absolutely livid.

“What do you mean they transferred him already?” he raged at a nurse. “He’s my husband—you can’t transfer him without my permission!”

The frightened nurse looked ready to bolt and John distantly wondered if she was a trainee. Most experienced nurses he knew were used to having misplaced anger thrust upon them by the loved ones of their patients. John allowed himself a moment to feel guilty before continuing his tirade.

“Who authorized this? Where’s Sarah?”

“Sarah?” the nurse asked in a shaky voice.

“Dr. Sawyer.”

“She went home, sir. Dr. Evans oversaw the transfer.”

“Get me Dr. Evans then.”

“I—I can’t, sir.”

“Why not?”

“He’s in a meeting.”

“I don’t care. You tell him I—“

“I see you’ve become rather attached to my brother already,” the voice of Mycroft Holmes said smugly as he entered Sherlock’s former hospital room. “I knew you would be very loyal, _very_ quickly. However, I did not expect—“

“How are you here? You’re supposed to be in America until—“

The suit-clad younger man leaned on his umbrella.

Why did he have an umbrella?

“I was able to convince one of my American associates to allow me the use of one of his experimental jets. While the trip here was rather uncomfortable, it did shave quite a few hours off my—“

“On second thought, I don’t care,” John growled at his brother-in-law. “Where’s Sherlock?”

The auburn-haired man smirked. “You care for him already. It’s obvious—“

“Where is he?” the blond doctor demanded. He had no patience for Mycroft’s obsession with the progress of his matchmaking scheme—a scheme that would fail no matter what the younger man thought.

“On his way to a rehab facility in Sussex,” Mycroft said with a bored air before he sent a dangerous look at the nurse that sent her scurrying from the room. Once he and John were alone, he continued. “I had him transferred an hour ago. Dr. Evans was kind enough to forgo hospital protocol in exchange for a little of my time. He fancies himself quite the budding politician. He’s not of course, and I could have easily arranged for Sherlock to be transferred without accepting the doctor’s idiotic demand. However, humoring him while I waited for your arrival was not a completely horrid way to pass the time.”

“You were the one Dr. Evans was meeting with?”

“Yes,” the younger man said with a raised eyebrow. “Do get out of the habit of asking stupid questions. If you continue in such a manner, I do fear my brother will tire of you.”

John gritted his teeth. “What rehab facility is—“

The younger man gave John a pitying look. “Despite how _heartwarming_ your concern for Sherlock is,” he mocked. “You will not be seeing him for the foreseeable future. The name of where he is staying is not pertinent information at this time.”

“What?” John growled.

“The facility I have chosen for his treatment has a strict “no visitor policy” for every patient until he or she is deemed to be serious about recovery. Considering Sherlock’s nature...well, let’s just say I doubt he will receive permission to have visitors during the duration of his treatment.”

John’s heart began to race. “How long will his treatment be?”

“Again, that all depends on Sherlock. If he doesn’t break out of the facility and relapse, he should be discharged in twelve weeks. If not...” the man trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Knowing Sherlock, he may be there for up to six months.”

For some reason, the idea of having to wait six months to see Sherlock again was unbearable to John.

The blond licked his lips. “Surely, you can find a way to have them make an exception?”

“While I appreciate your belief in my abilities, I will not push for an exception on your behalf.”

“But—“

“I have arranged for both of my parents to have biweekly visits with Sherlock; however, it is in my younger brother’s best interest that I do not do the same for you.”

John flushed with anger. “How is it not in his ‘best interest’? I’m his bloody husband!”

“’Husband’?” Mycroft smirked. “You’re taking that title very seriously aren’t you?”

“I thought that’s exactly what you wanted? You and your bloody matchmaking—”

The “minor” government official cut off John's impending rant with a laugh. 

“You’re more perfect than I imagined,” Mycroft said with satisfaction.

“What do you—“

“I am not going to arrange special visitation privileges on your behalf, because the reward of seeing you might just be enough to convince Sherlock to behave.”  

“You’re using me as a bargaining chip?”   

“In a sense.”

“That’s—“

“I’m well aware of the fact that you find it insulting,” Mycroft said as he turned towards the door. He took a few steps before stopping and turning to address John over his shoulder. “Do take the night to take care of yourself Dr. Watson-Holmes. While I understand your desire to be close to the children at this time, my parents are more than capable of taking care of them like they usually do during the weekends.”

“I—“

“Yes, I know you’ll do as you wish. In any case, please heed my advice—the children need their primary caregiver well-rested. I’ll be in touch with details about Sherlock’s recovery. If by some miracle, the reward of your visits is truly enough to entice him to behave while in rehab, I will arrange for you to visit. Good day, John.”

John gaped as he watched Mycroft strut out of the room twirling his umbrella. How could the taller man so easily dismiss him? A minute after infuriating man’s departure, the blond doctor shook himself out of his shock and bolted out of the room.

“Wait!” John shouted as he entered the hallway and looked around frantically for his insane brother-in-law.

The other man was nowhere to be found.


End file.
